Classic Poem

And can the Muse reflect her tear-stain'd eye,
When blood attests ev'n slaves for freedom die?
On cruel gibbets high disclos'd they rest,
And scarce one groan escapes one bloated breast.
Here sable Caesars feel the christian rod;
There Afric Platos, tortur'd, hope a God:
While jetty Brutus for his country sighs,
And sooty Cato with his freedom dies!

Britons, forbear! be Mercy still your aim,
And as your faith, unspotted be your fame;
Tremendous pains tremendous deeds inspire,
And, hydra-like, new martyrs rise from fire.