Better for thee, scarce crawling on the earth,
Almost as much a child as at thy birth,
To have resign'd in peace thy parting breath,
And sunk unnotic'd in the arms of death.
Why would thy gray, gray hairs resentment brave,
Thus to go down with sorrow to the grave?
Now by my soul it makes me blush to know
My spirits could descend to such a foe.
Whatever cause thy vengeance might provoke,
It seems rank cowardice to give the stroke."