Go seek some hospitable shelter nigh,
Or haste and warm thee at thy social home.
Nor longer thy half-cover’d limbs expose,
To the assaults of th’ unpitying air;
Thy fragile body sure demands repose,
For numerous years have silver’d o’er thy hair.
“No home I have!” the hapless wanderer cries;
Say, was thy youth to vicious courses given;
That thus thy age must brave inclement skies,
To fate the vengeance of offended heaven?