Whose quick-turn'd eyes foresaw each quibble quaint,
And quirk evasive. As an osier light,
That bending yields to ev'ry blast of wind,
His heart to fraud was flexible,—his heart,
Where dark Deceit, in honest guise array'd,
Had sown its seeds, and poison'd ev'ry grain
Which, warm'd by potent Truth's congenial ray,
With Virtue's plenteous harvest might have teem'd.
But fruitless was the youth's parental aim,
Tho' sedulous. For scarce two years had roll'd