Oh, , think! so far as Thought can show,
What Pangs of Grief, what Agonies of Woe,
At this dire Resolution seiz'd my Breast!
By all things sad, and terrible possest.
In vain I wept, and 'twas in vain I pray'd,
For all my Pray'rs were to a Tyger made;
A Tyger! worse; for 'tis beyond dispute,
No Fiend's so cruel as a Reas'ning Brute,
Encompass'd thus, and hopeless of Relief,
With all the Squadrons of despair and Grief:
Ruin — it was not possible to shun,
What could I do, Oh! What would you have done?