Yet though his old offence thus brands with shame
His conscious forehead, and unmans his frame,
When some new sin excites his impious zeal,
His heart is adamant, his nerves are steel:
Nor think, your perjur'd friend, reform'd by time,
Will bound his forfeits to this single crime.
The rose of innocence, once rent away,
No more shall grace his brow. And who can say,
"One step, and then no further?" — This first sin
Crown'd with success, ere long his feet shall win
To loftier heights of vice, and urge his fate
From bad to worse, from little crimes to great,
Till his broad guilt for public vengeance calls,
And to the laws his life a victim falls.
Then shalt thou own (and blush at thy mistrust),
Crimes still are punish'd, and God still is just!