I rear'd with hope, with joy, and painful toil.
Alas! my hopes were vain! I saw them both
Reft by an emmet!—crush'd before a moth!
IX.
Still could I not believe his vengeful spite,
For in his guise a speciousness appear'd;
My bitterness of heart I feigned light;
But wholly as he urged my next I reared;
He said of all the gang he was the best,
And wrung his neck before mine eyes in jest.