’Whence, think’st thou, kings and parasites arose? 
Whence that unnatural line of drones, who heap
Toil and unvanquishable penury 120
On those who build their palaces, and bring
Their daily bread?—­From vice, black loathsome vice;
From rapine, madness, treachery, and wrong;
From all that ’genders misery, and makes
Of earth this thorny wilderness; from lust, 125
Revenge, and murder...And when Reason’s voice,
Loud as the voice of Nature, shall have waked
The nations; and mankind perceive that vice
Is discord, war, and misery; that virtue
Is peace, and happiness and harmony; 130
When man’s maturer nature shall disdain
The playthings of its childhood;—­kingly glare
Will lose its power to dazzle; its authority
Will silently pass by; the gorgeous throne
Shall stand unnoticed in the regal hall, 135
Fast falling to decay; whilst falsehood’s trade
Shall be as hateful and unprofitable
As that of truth is now. 
Where is the fame
Which the vainglorious mighty of the earth
Seek to eternize?  Oh! the faintest sound 140
From Time’s light footfall, the minutest wave
That swells the flood of ages, whelms in nothing
The unsubstantial bubble.  Ay! today
Stern is the tyrant’s mandate, red the gaze
That flashes desolation, strong the arm 145
That scatters multitudes.  To-morrow comes! 
That mandate is a thunder-peal that died
In ages past; that gaze, a transient flash
On which the midnight closed, and on that arm
The worm has made his meal. 
The virtuous man, 150
Who, great in his humility, as kings
Are little in their grandeur; he who leads
Invincibly a life of resolute good,
And stands amid the silent dungeon depths
More free and fearless than the trembling judge, 155
Who, clothed in venal power, vainly strove
To bind the impassive spirit;—­when he falls,
His mild eye beams benevolence no more: 
Withered the hand outstretched but to relieve;
Sunk Reason’s simple eloquence, that rolled 160
But to appal the guilty.  Yes! the grave
Hath quenched that eye, and Death’s relentless frost
Withered that arm:  but the unfading fame
Which Virtue hangs upon its votary’s tomb;
The deathless memory of that man, whom kings 165
Call to their mind and tremble; the remembrance
With which the happy spirit contemplates
Its well-spent pilgrimage on earth,
Shall never pass away.