How the dear vice the simple votary blinds,
So that he goes to ruin smoothly on,
And scarcely feels he’s going, till he’s gone.
I had made over, in a lucky hour,
Funds for my Aunt, and placed beyond my power:
The rest was flown, I speak it with remorse,
And now a pistol seem’d a thing in course.
But, though its precepts I had not obey’d, 80
Thoughts of my Bible made me much afraid
Of such rebellion, and, though not content,