Is it a reed that’s shaken by the wind，
Or what is it that ye go forth to see➁?
Lords，lawyers，statesmen，squires of low degree，
Men known，and men unknown，sick，lame，and blind，
Post forward— all，like creatures of one kind，
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France，before the new-born Majesty.
’Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind，
A seemly reverence may be paid to power；
But that’s a loyal virtue，never sown
In haste，nor springing with a transient shower:
When truth，when sense，when liberty were flown，
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you，feeble Heads，to slavery prone!