Maxioms by William Cowper
Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
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Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!
Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
Thus neither the praise nor the blame is our own.
By low ambition and the thirst of praise.
By low ambition and the thirst of praise.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves besides.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves besides.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
