He Who Replies To Words Of Doubt

A Dog Starv'd At The Master's Gate Predicts The Ruin Of The State. A Horse Misus'd Upon The Road Calls To Heaven For Human Blood. Each Outcry Of The Hunted Hare A Fibre From The Brain Does Tear, A Skylark Wounded On The Wing, A Cherubim Does Cease To Sing.

The Fool Shall Not Enter Into Heaven Let Him Be Ever So Holy.

Some Say That Happiness Is Not Good For Mortals, & They Ought To Be Answered That Sorrow Is Not Fit For Immortals & Is Utterly Useless To Any One; A Blight Never Does Good To A Tree, & If A Blight Kill Not A Tree But It Still Bear Fruit, Let None Say That The Fruit Was In Consequence Of The Blight.

I Wander Thro' Each Charter'd Street, Near Where The Charter'd Thames Does Flow, And Mark In Every Face I Meet Marks Of Weakness, Marks Of Woe. In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear. How The Chimney-sweeper's Cry Every Black'ning Church Appalls; And The Hapless Soldier's Sigh Runs In Blood Down Palace Walls. But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlot's Curse Blasts The New Born Infant's Tear, And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse.

The Modest Rose Puts Forth A Thorn,the Humble Sheep A Threat'ning Horn:while The Lily White Shall In Love Delight,nor A Thorn Nor A Threat Stain Her Beauty Bright.