Her voice with pity; he respects her tears;
His stubborn features half admit a smile,
And his tone softens - “Well! I’ll wait awhile.”
Pity! a man so good, so mild, so meek,
At such an age, should have his bread to seek;
And all those rude and fierce attacks to dread.
That are more harrowing than the want of bread;
Ah! who shall whisper to that misery peace!
And say that want and insolence shall cease?
“But why not publish?” - those who know too well,