My Story might, at least, her gen’rous Pity move;
Her Pity’s all my Hope, nor durst I more implore,
With that I still might live, and still her Charms adore.
Under-written.
Poor Wretch, alas! I pity Thee with all my heart,
Since that, it seems, alone will cure thy Love-sick Smart:
For he that has not Courage further to implore,
May surely have our Pity, but deserves no more.
From a Bog-House at the George-Inn in Whitchurch.
From costive Stools, and hide-bound Wit,