Alas! this Lecture can't my Pains abate,
They ſtill increaſe as I thy Power relate.
To keep thee ſafe I've faſted now till Noon,
Nor cool'd my Liver in the Heats of June.
Sure, of my Grief thou feel'ſt a friendly Share,
While thus I ſigh, and on thy Colour ſtare.
E'en Rocks relent, as wand'ring Shepherds mourn,
And doleful Echo's their Complaints return.
Hard Steel it ſelf, like Ice, diſſolves away,
When in the Centre of collected Day.
Thy Sympathy I fee, thy Brightneſs fails,
And Dimneſs o'er thy Radiance now prevails.
Tis thy Compaſſion hinders thee to melt,
Since Want, alas! would then too ſoon be felt.
Tho' in fine Artiſts ſeldom you delight,
And hate the Poets with a mortal Spite;
An ancient Plaint! deduc'd from time to time,
⟨By⟩ the worſt Right, hereditary Rhime.}
⟨Yet⟩ now, as conſcious of my anxious Pain,
⟨Thou⟩ Pity tak'ſt, and gladly wou'dſt remain.
⟨As⟩ when a Sire is of Nine Sons bereft,
