Yet still will wealth presumtuous cry
What though the hand of death be thus outstrecthed
It will not reach the lordly and the high
But only strike the lowly and the wretched,
Tush!-- what have we to quail at? Let us fold
Our arms, and trust to luxury and gold
O thou reforming cholera! thour't sent
Not as a scourge alone, but as a teacher
"The Cholera Morbus," Atlas, IV (1831-1832)