Suppose me there—suppose the carriage stops:
Down on her knees my trembling daughter drops; 340
Slowly I raise her, in my arms to fall,
And call for mercy as she used to call;
And shall that boy, who dreaded to appear
Before me, cast away at once his fear?
’Tis not in nature! He who once would cower
Beneath my frown, and sob for half an hour;
He who would kneel with motion prompt and quick
If I but look’d—as dogs that do a trick;