Oh, it smells foul, indeed, of rankest malice,

And the vile statesman's craft. You dare not, sure,

Thus bid defiance to each show of worth,

Each claim of honour: dare not injure thus

Your suffering country, in her bravest son!

Bur. But why should stern reproach her angry brow

Let fall on me? Am I alone the cause

That gives this working humour strength? Do I

Instruct the public voice to warp his actions?

[Pg 15]

Justice, untaught, shall poise the impartial scales,

And every curious eye may mark the beam.

South. The specious shield, which private malice bears,

Is ever blazon'd with some public good;

Behind that artful fence, skulk low, conceal'd,

The bloody purpose, and the poison'd shaft;

Ambition there, and envy, nestle close;

From whence they take their fatal aim unseen;

And honest merit is their destined mark.

Bur. My country's welfare, and my queen's command,

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