Take one blaspheming patriot, who has been hung or buried for some time,
together with the oppressed country belonging to him. Soak these in a
quantity of rotten sentiment, till they are completely sodden; and in
the mean while get ready an indefinite number of Christian kings and
priests. Kick these till they are nearly dead; add copiously broken
fragments of the Catholic church, and mix all together thoroughly. Place
them in a heap upon the oppressed country; season plentifully with very
coarse expressions; and on the top carefully arrange your patriot,
garnished with laurel or with parsley; surround with artificial hopes
for the future, which are never meant to be tasted. This kind of poem is
cooked in verbiage, flavoured with Liberty, the taste of which is much
heightened by the introduction of a few high gods, and the game of
Fortune. The amount of verbiage which Liberty is capable of flavouring,
is practically infinite.