« ForrigeFortsett »
Are such an antiquated scene,
You are so deaf, the lady cried,
Dismiss poor Harry! he replies; Some people are more nice than wise, For one slight trespass all this stir? What if he did ride whip and spur, . 'Twas but a mile-your favourite horse Will never look one hair the worse. Well, I protest 'tis past all bearingChild! I am rather hard of hearingYes, truly—one must scream and bawl, I tell you, you can't hear at all!
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
Aļas! and is domestic strife,
The love, that cheers life's latest stage,
Preserv'd by virtue from declension,
Forc'd from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn;
O'er the raging billows borne.
Paid my price in paltry gold; But, though slave they have enrollid me,
Minds are never to be sold.
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask, Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task? Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature's claim; Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same.
Why did all-creating nature
Make the plant, for which we toil? Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil. Think, ye masters iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial boards; Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweets, your cane affords.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there one who reigns on high? Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky?. Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means, that duty urges
Agents of his will to use?
Hark! he answers-Wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder. sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice, with which he speaks.