“Retort on Mordaunt's "The Call"

I hate that drum's discordant sound, parading round, and round: To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, and lures from cities and from fields, to sell their liberty for charms of tawdry lace, and glittering arms; and when Ambition's voice commands, to march, and fight, and fall in foreign lands. I hate that drum's discordant sound, parading round and round; to me it talks of ravag'd plains, and burning towns, and ruin'd swains, and mangled limbs, and dying groans, and widows' tears, and orphans' moans; and all that Misery's hand bestows, to fill the catalogue of human woes.”