Your fancied flowers I fondly plac’d,
But mourn my adverse fate,
Who by compulsive atoms hurl’d,
Was forc’d so soon into this world,
Where you arrived too late.
The Answer, by a Friend of the Boy.
Permit me, dear madam, to tell you you’ve err’d
In this hardy censure on Fate,
Which though my arrival is somewhat deferr’d,
By no means has sent me too late.