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The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands and shews his misiries in distant lands; Condemned a needy suppliant to wait While ladies interpose & slaves debate.--- But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted Empire mark his end? Did rival Monarchs give the fatal Wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground?-- His fall was destin'd to a barren strand A petty fortress & a dubious hand; He left the name at which the World grew pale, To point [[underline]] a Moral or adorn [[/underline]] a tale. -- But grant the virtues of a temp'rate prime Blest with an age exempt from scorn or crime; An age that melts with unperceiv'd decay And glides in modest innocence away Whose peaceful day benevolence endears Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers The gen'ral fav'rite as the gen'ral friend Such age there is, & who shall wish its end. --
