Such, nor less eager in their chace,
Forth springs the clamorous Beldame race:
Harsh Chorus of discordant notes
From yelping tongues and time-crack'd throats;
Where lewder Youth outstrips the wind,
And limping Eighty lags behind:
Yet faithful to the beaten track
The slow-pac'd sluggard hunts the pack.
Meek Virtue to the covert flies
With panting heart and clouded eyes.
Ah! spare the gentle coward's fears
Who only answers with her tears;
And trembles at imputed sin
Tho' all be innocence within.