Tyrannic Circumstance! whose jealous power
Guards every turn, and watches every hour,
With secret influences controlling still
The conduct, and the spirits, and the will,
Alas,-- that each of us is seen a slave,
In fetters from the cradle to the grave!
What? -- am I free? each natural bent within,
Inherited infirmity and sin,
The brain, the disposition, and the shape,
A new-hatched passion, slumbering or agape
With tastes inclined for normal peace or strife,
These warp the man, and mould his heart and life:
What? -- am I free? each artifice without,
Wherein convention hedges us about,
Family likenesses of make and mind,
Habit, example, usage harsh or kind,
And every tone and temper all around,
These link the chain to keep the freeman bound!

Poor Gulliver, the giant of the skies,
Is tied to earth by countless petty ties;
Helpless in head and body, hands and feet,
Worried by pigmies with their arrowy sleet,
Humbled to wants, and cow'd by disesteem,
And seeing things around as in a dream,
Prostrate he lies,-- with all his wit and power
Made captive to the trifles of the hour!