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596. UPON THE TROUBLESOME TIMES.
O times most bad,
Without the scope
Of hope
Of better to be had!
Where shall I go,
Or whither run
To shun
This public overthrow?
No places are,
This I am sure,
Secure
In this our wasting war.
Some storms we've past,
Yet we must all
Down fall,
And perish at the last.
597. CRUELTY BASE IN COMMANDERS.
Nothing can be more loathsome than to see
Power conjoin'd with Nature's cruelty.
599. UPON LUCIA.
I ask'd my Lucia but a kiss,
And she with scorn denied me this;
Say then, how ill should I have sped,
Had I then ask'd her maidenhead?
