The Wounded Man and the Swarm of Flies

Squalid with wounds, and many a gaping sore,
A wretched Lazar lay distrest,
A swarm of Flies his bleeding ulcers tore,
And on his putrid carcass feast.

A courteous traveller, who pass'd that way,
And saw the vile Harpeian brood,
Offer'd his help the monstrous crew to stay,
That rioted on human blood.

" Ah! gentle Sir, " the' unhappy wretch replied,
" Your well-meant charity refrain;
The angry gods have that redress denied,
Your goodness would increase my pain.

Fat, and full-fed, and with abundance cloy'd,
But now and then these tyrants feed;
But were, alas! this pamper'd brood destroy'd,
The lean and hungry would succeed. "

MORAL .

The body politic must soon decay,
When swarms of insects on its vitals prey
When bloodsuckers of state, a greedy brood,
Feast on our wounds, and fatten with our blood.
What must we do in this severe distress?
Come, doctor, give the patient some redress:
The quacks in politics a change advise,
But cooler counsels should direct the wise.
'Tis hard indeed; but better this than worse;
Mistaken blessings prove the greatest curse.
Alas! what would our bleeding country gain,
If, when this viperous brood at last is slain,
The teeming Hydra pullulates again,
Seizes the prey with more voracious bite,
To satisfy his hungry appetite?