To me the children of my youth are lords,
Cool in their looks, but hasty in their words:
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Wants of their own demand their care; and who
Feels his own want and succours others too?
A lonely, wretched man, in pain I go,
None need my help, and none relieve my wo;
Then let my bones beneath the turf be laid,
And men forget the wretch they would not aid!"
Thus groan the old, till, by disease oppress'd,