Then met the friends; the Widow heard the sigh
That ask’d at once compassion and reply: -
“Would you, my child, converse with one so poor,
Yours were the kindness - yonder is my door:
And, save the time that we in public pray,
From that poor cottage I but rarely stray.”
There went the nymph, and made her strong complaints,
Painting her woe as injured feeling paints.
“Oh, dearest friend! do think how one must feel,
Shock’d all day long, and sicken’d every meal;