Of angry fate, it preys upon the form;
With conscious virtue she resisted still,
And conscious love gave vigour to her will;
But Lucy’s trial was at hand; with joy
The Mother cried - “Behold your constant boy -
Thursday - was married: - take the paper, sweet,
And read the conduct of your reverend cheat;
See with what pomp of coaches, in what crowd
The creature married - of his falsehood proud!
False, did I say? - at least no whining fool;