after l. 84:
But feebly gives the Time; the very Shore,
Methinks, resounds not as it did before;
The Market dwindles, and each humble Stall
Confounds my Sight—there’s Littleness in all.
Yet is the Shore the same, the same the Sea,
And every Change I mourn is Change in me. (D.)
instead of ll. 97–100:
Would I could one, a single, friend behold
Who will to me the hidden facts unfold,