394 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
And time the scars left by thine English drubbing,
A deeper stain still dyed the man within. Rest, then ! There's now no use but one for thee, To point this maxim of philosophy —
- ' No man can serve two masters." Thou didst sell
Life's charities to please thy monarch's will,
And he with gifts requited thee ; 'tis well ; But thou to justice wast a bondsman still.
The one rewarded thee with wealth and station ;
The other gave thee o'er to condemnation.
Both claimed thy service ; but the mightier one Hath snatched the weaker potentate's reward,
And, waiting till thy bloody work was done. At length disarms thee of thy whip and sword.
Thanks, Justice, that of bad men in disgrace
Canst teachers make, and warnings to their race !
Nor yet did Conscience leave thee out of sight ;
Not thy new marshal's baton could beguile Thy weary soul, which left the world's sweet light
When Fortune had but just begun to smile. Could not the gifts of thine approving master Console thee for thy sorrowful disaster ?
No, thou hadst lived to learn that Austria's heel Trod not the necks of all men, and thy mind,
Howe'er unmerciful, thou couldst not steel Against the honest scorn of all mankind.
No, no ! The sword-thrusts of a thousand wars
Could ne'er have stung like those disgraceful scars.
What did it boot thee that thou wast so brave To slaughter freemen, and to scourge the backs
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