False , cruel, disappointed, stung to th' heart,
France quits the warrior's for th' assassin's part;
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys,
Bids the low street and lofty palace blaze.
Her sons too weak to vanquish us alone,
She hires the worst and basest of our own.—
Kneel, France!—a suppliant conquersus with ease,
We always spare a coward on his knees.