But how my Pardon shall I know?
MAGISTRATE.
By feeling Dread that ’tis not sent,
By Tears for Sin that freely flow,
By Grief, that all thy Tears are spent,
By Thoughts on that great Debt we owe,
With all the Mercy God has lent,
By suffering what thou canst not show,
Yet showing how thine Heart is rent,
Till thou canst feel thy Bosom glow,
And say, “My Saviour, I repent!”
WOMAN!
Mr. Ledyard, as quoted by M. Parke, in his
Travels into Africk.
“To a Woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like Men, to perform a generous action: In so free and kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweetest draught; and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish.”
Place the White-Man on Africk’s Coast,
Whose swarthy Sons in Blood delight,
Who of their Scorn to Europe boast,
And paint their very Dæmons white:
There while the sterner Sex disdains
To soothe the Woes, they cannot feel;
Woman will strive to heal his Pains,
And weep for those, she cannot heal:
Hers is warm Pity’s sacred Glow;
From all her Stores, she bears a Part,
And bids the Spring of Hope re-flow,
That languish’d in the fainting Heart.
“What though so pale his haggard Face,
“So sunk and sad his Looks,”—she cries;
“And far unlike our nobler Race,
“With crisped Locks and rolling Eyes;
“Yet Misery marks him of our Kind,
“We see him lost, alone, afraid;
“And Pangs of Body, Griefs in Mind,
“Pronounce him Man and ask our Aid.