Page:Soldier's wife, or, The fruits of a victory.pdf/7

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Give to Reafon the Helm, let her be your guide. Say, unprincipt’d Ufurper of Galia’s Free- dom, Whole fteps to the throne are fo deep ftain’d with blood. Are you now happy, with thy imperial dia- dem ? Equally fo with the peafant who toils for his food.

Even tho’ Death was nothing but reft from all labour, At fome wits imagine—an Etercal fleep, While Innocence might dance to the found of the tabor. On thy bloody rear’d fabric, you have caufe to weep. But indulge not the wild dream—a time may faft draw nigh, When Vice shall be humbled, triumphant the good; When the Great Bonaparte may behold with been envy,