( 15 )
those Reasons, which might excuse a different Treatment of her.
He writ the following Copy of Verses, and several others, on the same Subject, at a Time, when, I know not, which was most to be wonder'd at; That he should be serene enough for Poetry, under the Extremity of Ill Fortune!———Or, that his Subject should be the Praise of her, to whom he ow'd a Life of Misery!
Hopeless, abandon'd, aimless, and oppress'd,
Lost to Delight, and, every way, distress'd:
Cross his cold Bed, in wild Disorder, thrown,
Thus, sigh'd Alexis, Friendless, and alone—
Why do I breathe?—What Joy can Being give,
When she, who gave me Life, forgets I live!
Feels not those Wintry Blasts;—nor heeds my Smart.
But shuts me from the Shelter of her Heart!
Saw me expos'd, to Want! to Shame! to Scorn!
To Ills!—which make it Misery, to be born!
Cast me, regardless on the World's bleak Wild:
And bad me, be a Wretch, while yet, a Child!
Where can he hope for Pity, Peace, or Rest,
Who moves no Softness in a Mother's Breast?
Custom,
