Sick without pity, sorrowing without hope,
See her! the grief and scandal of the troop;
A wretched martyr to a childish pride,
Her woe insulted, and her praise denied:
Her humble talents, though derided, used,
Her prospects lost, her confidence abused;
All that remains - for she not long can brave
Increase of evils - is an early grave.
Ye gentle Cynthias of the shop, take heed
What dreams you cherish, and what books ye read!