An old Satire, from a bygone era reads:


Almighty crowd, thou shorten'st all dispute;
Pow'r is thy essence, wit thy attribute!
Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay,
Thou leap'st o'er all eternal truths in thy pindaric way!
When Phocion and when Socrates were tried,
As righteously they did those dooms repent;
Still they were wise whatever way they went.
Crowds err not though to both extremes they run,
To kill the father and recall the son.
Some think the fools were most, as times went then;
But now the world's o'erstock'd with prudent men.
The common cry is ev'n religion's test;
The Turk's is, at Constantinople, best,
Idols in india, popery at Rome,
And our own only worship at home.
And true but for the time! 'tis hard to know
How long we please it shall continue so.
This side to-day, and that to-morrow burns;
So all are god-a'mightys in their turns.
A tempting doctrine, plausible and new:
What fools our fathers were, if this be true!