By turns to that, by turns to this, a prey,
She knows what reason yields, and dreads what madness may.
Next, with their boy, a decent couple came,
And call'd him Robert, 'twas his father's name;
Three girls preceded, all by time endear'd,
And future births were neither hoped nor fear'd.
Bless'd in each other, but to no excess,
Health, quiet, comfort, form'd their happiness;
Love, all made up of torture and delight,
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