22
Lo! at his throne the silent Nymph appears,
Frail by her shape, but modest in her tears;
And while she stands abash'd, with conscious eye,
Some favourite female of her Judge glides by;
Who views with scornful glance the strumpet's fate,
And thanks the stars that made her keeper great:
Near her the Swain, about to bear for life
One certain evil, doubts 'twixt war and wife;
But, while the faultering damsel takes her oath,
Consents to wed, and so secures them both.
Yet why, you ask, these humble crimes relate,
Why make the Poor as guilty as the Great?
To show the Great, those mightier sons of Pride,
How near in vice the lowest are allied;
Such are their natures, and their passions such,
But these disguise too little, those too much:
So shall the man of power and pleasure see
In his own Slave as vile a wretch as he;
In his luxurious Lord the Servant find
His own low pleasures and degenerate mind;
And each in all the kindred vices trace,
Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race!
Who, a short time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last.
And you, ye Poor, who still lament your fate,
Forbear to envy those you call the Great;
And know, amid those blessings they possess,
They are, like you, the victims of distress;
While Sloth with many a pang torments her slave,
Fear waits on guilt, and Danger shakes the brave.
Frail by her shape, but modest in her tears;
And while she stands abash'd, with conscious eye,
Some favourite female of her Judge glides by;
Who views with scornful glance the strumpet's fate,
And thanks the stars that made her keeper great:
Near her the Swain, about to bear for life
One certain evil, doubts 'twixt war and wife;
But, while the faultering damsel takes her oath,
Consents to wed, and so secures them both.
Yet why, you ask, these humble crimes relate,
Why make the Poor as guilty as the Great?
To show the Great, those mightier sons of Pride,
How near in vice the lowest are allied;
Such are their natures, and their passions such,
But these disguise too little, those too much:
So shall the man of power and pleasure see
In his own Slave as vile a wretch as he;
In his luxurious Lord the Servant find
His own low pleasures and degenerate mind;
And each in all the kindred vices trace,
Of a poor, blind, bewilder'd, erring race!
Who, a short time in varied fortune past,
Die, and are equal in the dust at last.
And you, ye Poor, who still lament your fate,
Forbear to envy those you call the Great;
And know, amid those blessings they possess,
They are, like you, the victims of distress;
While Sloth with many a pang torments her slave,
Fear waits on guilt, and Danger shakes the brave.
