Alexander Pope

I'll print it,
And shame the fools.

I'll print it,
And shame the fools.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign,
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
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Thus sung the shepherds till th' approach of night,
The skies yet blushing with departing light,
When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade,
And the low sun had lengthened every shade.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.

Soft o'er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe,
That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath.

Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?