trains your infant to her joyless breast,
and with a mother's fears shrinks at the rog bst!
“oh ye! who, sunk in beds of down,
feel not a want but what yourselves create,
think, for a moment, on his wretched fate,
whom friends and fortune quite disown!
ill-satisfy'd keen nature's cmorous call,
stretch'd on his straw, he ys himself to sleep;
while through the ragged roof and ky wall,
chill, o'er his slumbers, piles the drifty heap!
think on the dungeon's grim fine,
where guilt and poor misfortune pine!
guilt, erring maing view,
but sh
A Winter Night(6/7)