We, need I say? my widow’d Sister lives
On a large jointure; nay, she largely gives;—
And Fanny sighs—for gold does Fanny sigh?
Or wants she that which money cannot buy—
Youth and young hopes?—Ah! could my kindred share
The liberal mind’s distress, and daily care, 840
The painful toil to gain the petty fee—
They’d bless their stars, and join to pity me.
Hard is his fate, who would, with eager joy,
To save mankind, his every power employ;