France, in return for peace and power restored,
For all those countries which the hero's sword
Unprofitably purchased, idly thrown
Into her lap, and made once more her own; 200
France hath afforded large and rich supplies
Of vanities full trimm'd; of polish'd lies;
Of soothing flatteries, which through the ears
Steal to, and melt the heart; of slavish fears
Which break the spirit, and of abject fraud--
For which, alas! we need not send abroad.
Spain gives us Pride--which Spain to all the earth
May largely give, nor fear herself a dearth--
Gives us that Jealousy, which, born of Fear
And mean Distrust, grows not by Nature here-- 210
Gives us that Superstition, which pretends
By the worst means to serve the best of ends--
That Cruelty, which, stranger to the brave,
Dwells only with the coward and the slave;
That Cruelty, which led her Christian bands
With more than savage rage o'er savage lands,
Bade her, without remorse, whole countries thin,
And hold of nought, but Mercy, as a sin.
Italia, nurse of every softer art,
Who, feigning to refine, unmans the heart; 220
Who lays the realms of Sense and Virtue waste;
Who mars while she pretends to mend our taste;
Italia, to complete and crown our shame,
Sends us a fiend, and Legion is his name.
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