None, alas! supply’d their place?
And to madness now to drive thee,
Ceaseless strives a cruel race.
Youth forlorn! tho’ crowds deride thee,
Gentle minds for thee must grieve;
Back to reason, wish to guide thee,
And thy ev’ry want relieve,
O from this sad state to snatch thee,
Why delay the good and kind?
Pity calls them on to watch thee,