Robert Pollok

But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.

But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill.

Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love.

Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept
Essential love.

He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
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He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
Away unalmed; and midst abundance died--
Sorest of evils!--died of utter want.

Get money, money still!
And then let virtue follow, if she will.

Get money, money still!
And then let virtue follow, if she will.

All seems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.

All seems infected that th' infected spy,
As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye.