The Devil Hath Not, In All His

Dim With The Mist Of Years, Gray Flits The Shade Of Power.

What Exile From Himself Can Flee? To Zones, Though More And More Remote, Still, Still Pursues, Where'er I Be, The Blight Of Life--the Demon Thought.

It Is Not For Minds Like Ours To Give Or To Receive Flatter; Yet The Praises Of Sincerity Have Ever Been Permitted To The Voice Of Friendship

Yet He Was Jealous, Though He Did Not Show It, For Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

Let Not His Mode Of Raising Cash Seem Strange, Although He Fleeced The Flags Of Every Nation, For Into A Prime Minister But Change His Title, And 'tis Nothing But Taxation.