I am a man, So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, That I would set my life on any chance, To mend it, or be rid ou't. When once sordid interest seizes on the heart, it freezes up the source of every warm and liberal feeling; it is an enemy alike to virtue and to taste--_this_ it perverts, and _that_ it annihilates. The time may come, my friend, when death shall dissolve the sinews of avarice, and justice be permitted to resume her rights.…
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