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1779–1852

SONG OF THE POCO-CURANTE SOCIETY.

Thomas Moore

To those we love we've drank tonight; But now attend and stare not, While I the ampler list recite Of those for whom WE CARE NOT.

For royal men, howe'er they frown, If on their fronts they bear not That noblest gem that decks a crown, The People's Love — WE CARE NOT.

For slavish men who bend beneath A despot yoke, yet dare not Pronounce the will whose very breath Would rend its links — WE CARE NOT.

For priestly men who covet sway And wealth, tho’ they declare not; Who point, like finger-posts, the way They never go — WE CARE NOT.

For martial men who on their sword, Howe'er it conquers, wear not The pledges of a soldier's word, Redeemed and pure — WE CARE NOT.

For legal men who plead for wrong. And, tho’ to lies they swear not, Are hardly better than the throng Of those who do — WE CARE NOT.

For courtly men who feed upon The land, like grubs, and spare not The smallest leaf where they can sun Their crawling limbs — WE CARE NOT.

For wealthy men who keep their mines In darkness hid, and share not The paltry ore with him who pines In honest want — WE CARE NOT.

For prudent men who hold the power Of Love aloof, and bare not Their hearts in any guardless hour To Beauty's shaft — WE CARE NOT.

For all, in short, on land or sea, In camp or court, who are not, Who never were, or e'er will be Good men and true — WE CARE NOT.

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