Chapter xxiv.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy?
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.
Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaise.
The king himself has followed her
When she has walked before.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT.
1721-1771.
Ode to Independence.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;
Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,
Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.