But be the Terror of these Ills suppress'd:
And view We Man with Health and Vigor blest.
Home He returns with the declining Sun,
His destin'd Task of Labor hardly done;
Goes forth again with the ascending Ray,
Again his Travel for his Bread to pay,
And find the Ill sufficient to the Day.
Hap'ly at Night He does with Horror shun
A widow'd Daughter, or a dying Son:
His Neighbor's Off-spring He To-morrow sees;
And doubly feels his Want in their Increase:
The next Day, and the next he must attend
His Foe triumphant, or his buried Friend.
In ev'ry Act and Turn of Life he feels
Public Calamities, or Household Ills:
The due Reward to just Desert refus'd:
The Trust betray'd, the Nuptial Bed abus'd:
The Judge corrupt, the long depending Cause,
And doubtful Issue of misconstru'd Laws:
The crafty Turns of a dishonest State,
And violent Will of the wrong-doing Great:
The Venom'd Tongue injurious to his Fame,
Which nor can Wisdom shun, nor fair Advice reclaim.