And deeply plunges in th’ adhesive ground;
Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes,
While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes;
For when so full the cup of sorrow grows,
Add but a drop, it instantly o’erflows. 
And now her path, but not her peace, she gains,
Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains;
Her home she reaches, open leaves the door,
And placing first her infant on the floor,
She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits,
And sobbing struggles with the rising fits: 
In vain they come, she feels the inflating grief,
That shuts the swelling bosom from relief;
That speaks in feeble cries a soul distress’d,
Or the sad laugh that cannot be repress’d. 
The neighbour-matron leaves her wheel and flies
With all the aid her poverty supplies;
Unfee’d, the calls of Nature she obeys,
Not led by profit, not allur’d by praise,
And waiting long, till these contentions cease,
She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace. 
   Friend of distress! the mourner feels thy aid;
She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid. 
But who this child of weakness, want, and care? 
’Tis Phoebe Dawson, pride of Lammas Fair;
Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes,
Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies: 
Compassion first assail’d her gentle heart,
For all his suffering, all his bosom’s smart: 
“And then his prayers! they would a savage move,
And win the coldest of the sex to love:”  —
But ah! too soon his looks success declared,
Too late her loss the marriage-rite repair’d;
The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot,
A captious tyrant or a noisy sot: 
If present, railing, till he saw her pain’d;
If absent, spending what their labours gain’d;
Till that fair form in want and sickness pined,
And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind. 
   Then fly temptation, youth; resist, refrain! 
Nor let me preach for ever and in vain! 
   Next came a well-dress’d pair, who left their coach,
And made, in long procession, slow approach;
For this gay bride had many a female friend,
And youths were there, this favour’d youth t’attend: 
Silent, nor wanting due respect, the crowd
Stood humbly round, and gratulation bow’d;
But not that silent crowd, in wonder fix’d,
Not numerous friends, who praise and envy mix’d,
Nor nymphs attending near to swell the pride
Of one more fair, the ever-smiling bride;
Nor that gay bride, adorn’d with every grace,
Nor love nor joy triumphant in her face,
Could from the youth’s sad signs of sorrow chase: 
Why didst thou grieve? wealth, pleasure, freedom thine;
Vex’d it thy soul, that freedom to resign? 
Spake Scandal truth?  “Thou didst not then intend
So soon to bring thy wooing to an end?”
Or, was it, as our prating rustics say,
To end as soon, but in a different way? 
’Tis told thy Phillis is a skilful dame,