There was no corn—in the wide market-place All loathliest things, even human flesh, was sold; They weighed it in small scales—and many a face Was fixt in eager horror then; his gold The miser brought; the tender maid, grown bold Through hunger, bared her scornèd charms in vain.
ATTRIBUTION:
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822), British poet. The Revolt of Islam, cto. 10.
