Classic Poem

In hearts like thine ne'er may I hold a place
Till I renounce all sense, all shame, all grace--
That seat--like seats, the bane of Freedom's realm,
But dear to those presiding at the helm--
Is basely purchased, not with gold alone;
Add Conscience, too, this bargain is your own--
'Tis thine to offer with corrupting art
The rotten borough of the human heart.