Page:Slavery, a poem.pdf/23

Rh If, then, thy troubled soul has learn'd to dread The dark unknown thy trembling footsteps tread; On, who made thee what thou art, depend; , who withholds the means, accepts the end. Not thine the reckoning dire of abus'd, disgrac'd, and  misus'd; On thee no awful judge incens'd shall sit For parts perverted, and dishonour'd wit. Where ignorance will be found the surest plea, How many learn'd and wise shall envy thee! And thou, whether lust of gold, Or lust of conquest, rule thee uncontrol'd! Hero, or robber!—by whatever name Thou plead thy impious claim to wealth or fame; Whether inferior mischiefs be thy boast, A petty tyrant rifling Gambia's coast: