"O monster! mix'd of insolence and fear, Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer! When wert thou known in ambush'd fights to dare, Or nobly face the horrid front of war? 'Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try; Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die: So much 'tis safer through the camp to go, And rob a subject, than despoil a foe. Scourge of thy people, violent and base! Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race; Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past, Are tamed to wrongs;—or this had been thy last.
