Dear Friend, methinks when thus thy plenary soul br Speaks from yon pale default that lies so low, br The hale and stalwart by thy couch must know br Such fond intoleration to be whole br As he, who, where the storms of battle roll, br Himself unthrown beholds the cannon throw br His father at his feet, and, while a woe br Of splendid shame dements him to that sole br Passion, above the fallen field looks round br The red conversion of the baptized ground br For aught whereon to spend his sanguine wealth br And, seeking not the value but the cost, br Rushes to win whatever, won or lost, br May end this gross unwounded infamy of health.