Here let me answer: No. Far different views
Possess’d my soul, and fired my virgin Muse.
’Twas honest gratitude, at whose request
Sham’d be the heart that will not do its best!
She then informs them they must part; that, if only she meets as much kindness elsewhere,
Envy, o’ercome, will hurl her pointless dart,
And critic gall be shed without its smart.
Nothing would drag her from Bath, she says, but one thing; here she went to the wing and led forward her children:—
These are the moles that bear me from your side,
Where I was rooted—where I could have died.