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SLAVERY.
A ſenſe of worth, a conſcience of deſert,
A high, unbroken haughtineſs of heart;
That ſelf-ſame ſtuff which erſt proud empires ſway'd,
Of which the conquerors of the world were made.80
Capricious fate of man! that very pride
In Afric ſcourg'd, in Rome was deify'd.
No Muſe, O[1] Qua-shi! ſhall thy deeds relate,
No ſtatue ſnatch thee from oblivious fate!
For
- ↑ It is a point of honour among negroes of a high ſpirit to die rather than to ſuffer their gloſſy ſkin to bear the mark of the whip. Qua-ſhi had ſomehow offended his maſter, a young planter with whom he had been bred up in the endearing intimacy of a play-fellow. His ſervices had been faithful; his attachment affectionate. The master reſolved to puniſh him, and purſued him for that purpoſe. In trying to escape Qua-ſhi ſtumbled and fell; the maſter fell upon him: they wreſtled long with doubtful victory; at length Qua-ſhi got uppermoſt, and, being firmly ſeated on his maſter's breaſt, he ſecured his legs with one hand, and with the other drew a ſharp knife; then ſaid, "Maſter, I have been bred up with you from a child; I have loved you as myſelf: in "return,
