Pensive, though good, I leave thee, gentle maid,
In thee confiding, of thy peace afraid,
In a strange world to act a trying part,
With a soft temper, and a yielding heart!
II.
P. How fares my gentle Jane, with spirit meek,
Whose fate with some foreboding care I seek:
Her whom I pitied in my pride, while she,
For many a cause more weighty, pitied me;
For she has wonder’d how the idle boy