Transcription: By numbers here from shame or censure free, All crimes are safe but hated poverty. This, only this, the rigid law pursues, This, only this, provokes the snarling muse. The sober trader at a tattered cloak, Wakes from his dream and labours for a joke. With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways. Of all the griefs that harass the distressed, Surely the most bitter is a scour. harmful jest.
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