Evil Times
“Oh times! O manners!” Tully cried of old;
When Catiline in impious plots grew bold:
When in fell arms the son and father stood,
And the sad earth reekt red with civil blood:
Why now—why now “O times! O manners!” cry?
What is it now that shocks thy purity?
No sword now maddens, and no chiefs destroy,
But all is peace, security, and joy:
These times, these manners, that so vile are grown,
Prithee, Cæcilian, are they not thine own?
When Catiline in impious plots grew bold:
When in fell arms the son and father stood,
And the sad earth reekt red with civil blood:
Why now—why now “O times! O manners!” cry?
What is it now that shocks thy purity?
No sword now maddens, and no chiefs destroy,
But all is peace, security, and joy:
These times, these manners, that so vile are grown,
Prithee, Cæcilian, are they not thine own?
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