And for th' account too early call;
A num'rous heap of ciphers would be found the total sum.
140When incompassionate age shall plow
The delicate Amira's brow,
And draw his furrows deep and long,
What hardy youth is he
Will after that a reaper be,
Or sing the harvest song?
And what is verse, but an effeminate vent
Either of lust or discontent?