What! out of Senseless Nothing to provoke
A Conscious Something to resent the yoke
of unpermitted pleasure under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties if broke!
•.¸¸.•
What! from this Helpless Creature be repaid?
Pure Gold for what was lent us dross-allay'd?
Sue for a debt we never did contract
And cannot answer... O, the sorry trade!
•.¸¸.•
Nay, but for terror of His Wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice 'Grace'!
Not one good fellow of this Tavern here
Would kick so poor a coward from the Place.
•.¸¸.•
Indeed, indeed, repentance oft before
I swore. But was I sober when I swore?
And then-and-then came Spring and, rose-in-hand,
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
