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Who fancyes not his looks now at the Barr, His face like death, his heart with horror fraught, Nor Male-factor ever felt like warr, When deep dispair with wish of life hath fought, Branded with guilt, and crusht with treble woes, A vagabond to Land of Nod he goes; A City builds, that wals might him secure from foes. Who thinks not oft upon the Father's ages.
Sometimes in Eden fair, he seems to be, Sees glorious Adam there made Lord of all, Fancyes the Apple, dangle on the Tree, That turn'd his Sovereign to a naked thral, Who like a miscreant's driven from that place, To get his bread with pain and sweat of face A penalty impos'd on his backsliding Race.
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