ABSTRACT
C. that Roman in his nose alone, 65 Who hears all causes, B-, but thy own, Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate Made fit companions for the Sword of State.
Can the light packhorse, or the heavy steer, The sowzing Prelate, or the sweating Peer, 70 Drag out with all its dirt and all its weight, The lumb'ring carriage of thy broken State? Alas! the people curse, the carman swears, The drivers quarrel, and the master stares.
