Or say, at best, that negatively kind
You only mourn'd, and silently repin'd;
The jealous daemons in my own fond breast
Wou'd all these thoughts incessantly suggest,
And all that sense must feel, tho' pity had supprest.
Yet added grief my apprehension fills
(If there can be addition to those ills)
When they shall cry, whose harsh reproof I dread,
"'Twas thy own deed, thy folly on thy head!"
Age knows not to allow for thoughtless youth,
Nor pities tenderness, nor honours truth;
Holds it romantic to confess a heart,
And say those virgins act a wiser a wiser part
Who hospitals and bedlams wou'd explore
To find the rich, and only dread the poor;
Who legal prostitutes, for int'rest sake,
Clodios and Timons to their bosoms take,
And, if avenging heav'n permit increase,
People the world with folly and disease.
Those, titles, deeds, and rent-rolls only wed,
Whilst the best bidder mounts the venal bed,
And the grave aunt and formal sire approve
This nuptial sale, this auction of their love.
But if regard to worth or sense be shown,
That poor degenerate child her friends disown,
Who dares to deviate by a virtuous choice
From her great name's hereditary vice.