Though clear and open all his ways;

  What Life is proof 'gainst dire disgrace,

    If guileful hate his act pourtrays?

  Ye Jurors cautiously proceed,

    When the question's left to you,

  Not 'Has the Culprit done the deed?'

    But 'Was the deed a crime to do?'10

  Grudge not deliberation's time,

    Lest you should be too severe;

  When Justice must believe a crime,

    She lends it her most tardy ear.

  How short is this momentous hour!

    O! how swift the minutes fly!

  Soon the Jurors, arm'd with power,

    Will come to bid me live or die.

  Pointed thoughts of Life and Death,

    Anxious sore solicitude,

  Shake my frame, suspend my breath,

    When Terror's gloomy shades protrude.

  But when Hope cheers me with the sound

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