Skip to main content
Torn from his Steed anon you might behold
The frighted Traveller, beset and pale;
Whom sour-fac'd Ruffians, that demand his Gold,
With sharp Rebukes and sharper Swords assail:
Force is their Law; and pressing Want inspires
Their Breasts to lawless Acts, and foul Desires.
Rate this poem
No votes yet