Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/67

CANTO I.] A nation swoln with ignorance and pride,

Who lick yet loathe the hand that waves the sword

To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord.

XVII.

But whoso entereth within this town,

That, sheening far, celestial seems to be,

Disconsolate will wander up and down,

'Mid many things unsightly to strange ee;

For hut and palace show like filthily:

The dingy denizens are reared in dirt;

Ne personage of high or mean degree

Doth care for cleanness of surtout or shirt,

Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwashed, unhurt.

XVIII.

Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes—

Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men?