Ye Towers Of Julius, London's Lasting Shame,

To Each His Suff'rings: All Are Men, / Condemn'd Alike To Groan, / The Tender For Another's Pain; / Th' Unfeeling For His Own.

Visions Of Glory, Spare My Aching Sight! Ye Unborn Ages, Crowd Not On My Soul!

Ah, Tell Them They Are Men!

I Shall Be But A Shrimp Of An Author.

Thought Would Destroy Their Paradise.