| Citation |
MS-W.775.026
3 Nov 1775:41 ([245])
London, 1775
THE CRISIS NUMBER XII
[Epigraph - 3 lines in Latin - Juvenal translated, 4 lines
as follows]
Sharp as a sword Lucilis drew in pen,
And struck with panic terror, guilty men,
At his just stroke the hardn'd wretch would start
Feel the cold sweat, and tremble at the heart.
THE PROPHECY OF RUIN. A POEM.
Should e'er a Prince the British empire sway
(And I be doomed by heav'n to see the day)
Who quite unmindful of that glorious state
To which he's rais'd not by desert but fate;
. . . [3 more columns of such couplets in this issue]
|