This is a diplomatic transcription of the text in The Poetical Works of 1782.
Disease! Man’s dread, relentless foe, | ||
Fell source of fear, and pain, and woe! | ||
O say, on what ill-fated coast | ||
They mourn thy tyrant reign the most? | ||
On Java’s bogs, or Gambia’s sand, | ||
Or Persia’s sultry southern strand; | ||
Or Egypt’s annual-flooded plain, | ||
Or Rome’s neglected, waste domain; | ||
Or where her walls Byzantium rears, | ||
And mosques and turrets crescent-crown’d, | ||
And from his high serail the sultan hears | ||
The wide Propontis’ beating waves resound. | ||
I’ll ask no more — Our clime, tho’ fair, | ||
Enough thy tyrant reign must share; | ||
And lovers there, and friends, complain, | ||
By Thee their friends and lovers slain: | ||
And yet our Avarice and our Pride | ||
Combine to spread thy mischiefs wide; | ||
While that the captive wretch confines, | ||
To hunger, cold, and filth resigns, — | ||
And this the funeral pomp attends | ||
To vaults, where mouldering corses lie, — | ||
Amid foul air thy form unseen ascends, | ||
And like a vulture hovers in the sky. |