In softest joys, and undisturbed delights?
Where is his hope at last, when God shall wrest
His trembling soul from his reluctant breast?
Blackmore.
What havoc hast thou made, foul monster, Sin!
Greatest and first of ills! The fruitful parent
Of woes of all dimensions! But for thee,
Sorrow had never been!
Blair.
Lord! with what care hast Thou begirt us round!