Oh, more or less than man—in high or low—

Battling with nations, flying from the field;

Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now

More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;

An Empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,

But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,

However deeply in men's spirits skilled,

Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of War,

Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest Star.