This hand, to tyrants ever sworn the foe, For Freedom only deals the deadly blow; Then sheathes in calm repose the vengeful blade, For gentle peace in Freedoms hallowed shade.1
You d scarce expect one of my age To speak in public on the stage; And if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Dont view me with a critics eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow, Tall oaks from little acorns grow.2