Ah! whither now shall sad Pastora wend,
To want abandon'd and by wrongs opprest?
Who shall the wretched out-cast's teen befriend?
Live's mercy then, if not in parent's breast?
At Jove's right hand, to Jove for ever dear,
Yes, MERCY lives, the gentle goddess blest,
Aye at his feet she pleads the cause distrest,
To Sorrow's plaints she turns his equal ear,
And wafts to heaven's star-throne fair Vertue's silent tear.