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Lettered inside image: "93 | Which, dying, tenfold terror gives to death, | And dips in venom his twice-mortal sting. | Learn hence what honours, what loud paeans due | To those, who push our antidote aside; | Those boasted friends to reason and to man, | Whose fatal love stabs every joy, and leaves | Death's terror heighten'd gnawing on his heart: | These pompous sons of reason idolized | And vilified at once; of reason dead, | Then deified, as monarchs were of old; | What conduct plants proud laurels on their brow? | While love of truth through all their camp resounds, | They draw pride's curtain o'er the noon-tide ray, | Spike up their inch of reason on the point | Of philosophick wit, call'd argument; | And then, exulting in their taper, cry, | 'Behold the sun'; and, Indian-like, adore. | Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding love! | Thou maker of new morals to mankind! | The grand morality is love of THEE. | As wise as Socrates, if such they were, | Nor will they bate of that sublime renown, | As wise as Socrates might justly stand | The definition of a modern fool. | A christian is the highest stile of man: | And is there who the blessed cross wipes off, | As a foul blot, from his dishonour'd brow? | *If angels tremble, 'tis at such a sight; | The wretch they quit, desponding of their charge, | More struck with grief or wonder, who can tell?"; lower right: "in & s | WB"; lower left: "Pubd. June 1st. 1797, by R. Edwards, No. 142 New Bond Street"