Oft when ye trespassed, I for pardon pray'd;
Oft on myself your little mischiefs laid.
Did I not always sooth the wounded mind?
Was I not called the generous and the kind?
Still silent? What! no word, no look to cheer?
No gentle gesture? What, not even a tear?
Go then, ye pure! to heights of virtue climb;
Let none plead for me, none forgive my crime.
Go—yet the culprit, by her God forgiven,
May plead for you before the throne of heaven!