When Nations Are To Perish In Their

When Scandal Has New-minted An Old Lie, Or Tax'd Invention For A Fresh Supply, 'tis Call'd A Satire, And The World Appears Gathering Around It With Erected Ears; A Thousand Names Are Toss'd Into The Crowd, Some Whisper'd Softly, And Some Twang'd Aloud, Just As The Sapience Of An Author's Brain, Suggests It Safe Or Dangerous To Be Plain.

Did Charity Prevail, The Press Would Prove A Vehicle Of Virtue, Truth, And Love.

Misery Still Delights To Trace Its Semblance In Another's Case.

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

Ye Therefore Who Love Mercy, Teach Your Sons To Love It, Too.