Mark Akenside,
An Epistle to Curio
(1744)
“ That thro' the Pageants of a Patriot's Name, They pierc'd the Foulness of thy secret Aim;40 Or deem'd thy Arm exalted but to throw The public Thunder on a private Foe. But I, whose Soul consented to thy Cause, Who felt thy Genius stamp its own Applause, Who saw the Spirits of each glorious Age45 Move in thy Bosom and direct thy Rage; I scorn'd th' ungenerous Gloss of slavish Minds, The Owl-ey'd Race, whom Virtue's Lustre blinds. Spite of the Learned in the Ways of Vice, And all who prove that each Man has his Price,50 I still believ'd thy End was just and free ”
