“Thine will I be, and that will be my pride!
It was a foolish Thought, a Fancy fled,
A Dream dissolv’d—the very wish is dead.
I thought that all things yielded to my Youth,
And follow’d Fancy till she fled from Truth;
Now I behold thee virtuous, as thou art,
Nor yield Esteem more freely than my Heart,
And him the worthless being he appears,
Taught to create our Terrors and our tears.” 310