10. 
Ah! ah! thought Satan, the pasture is good, 45
My Cattle will here thrive better than others;
They dine on news of human blood,
They sup on the groans of the dying and dead,
And supperless never will go to bed;
Which will make them fat as their brothers. 50

11. 
Fat as the Fiends that feed on blood,
Fresh and warm from the fields of Spain,
Where Ruin ploughs her gory way,
Where the shoots of earth are nipped in the bud,
Where Hell is the Victor’s prey, 55
Its glory the meed of the slain.

12. 
Fat—­as the Death-birds on Erin’s shore,
That glutted themselves in her dearest gore,
And flitted round Castlereagh,
When they snatched the Patriot’s heart, that HIS grasp 60
Had torn from its widow’s maniac clasp,
—­And fled at the dawn of day.

13. 
Fat—­as the Reptiles of the tomb,
That riot in corruption’s spoil,
That fret their little hour in gloom, 65
And creep, and live the while.

14. 
Fat as that Prince’s maudlin brain,
Which, addled by some gilded toy,
Tired, gives his sweetmeat, and again
Cries for it, like a humoured boy. 70

15. 
For he is fat,—­his waistcoat gay,
When strained upon a levee day,
Scarce meets across his princely paunch;
And pantaloons are like half-moons
Upon each brawny haunch. 75

16. 
How vast his stock of calf! when plenty
Had filled his empty head and heart,
Enough to satiate foplings twenty,
Could make his pantaloon seams start.

17. 
The Devil (who sometimes is called Nature), 80
For men of power provides thus well,
Whilst every change and every feature,
Their great original can tell.

18. 
Satan saw a lawyer a viper slay,
That crawled up the leg of his table, 85
It reminded him most marvellously
Of the story of Cain and Abel.

19. 
The wealthy yeoman, as he wanders
His fertile fields among,
And on his thriving cattle ponders, 90
Counts his sure gains, and hums a song;
Thus did the Devil, through earth walking,
Hum low a hellish song.

20. 
For they thrive well whose garb of gore
Is Satan’s choicest livery, 95
And they thrive well who from the poor
Have snatched the bread of penury,
And heap the houseless wanderer’s store
On the rank pile of luxury.

21. 
The Bishops thrive, though they are big; 100
The Lawyers thrive, though they are thin;
For every gown, and every wig,
Hides the safe thrift of Hell within.