When Want, and Pain, and Death besiege our Gate,
And ev’ry solemn Moment teems with Fate,
While Clouds and Darkness fill the Space between,
Perplex th’ Event, and shade the folded Scene.
In humble Silence wait th’ unuttered Voice,
Suspend thy Will, and check thy forward Choice;
Yet wisely fearful for th’ Event prepare
And learn the Dictates of a Brother’s Care.
How fierce thy Conflict, how severe thy Flight!
When Hell assails the foremost Sons of Light!
When he who long in Virtue’s Paths hath trod,
Deaf to the Voice of Conscience and of God,
Drops the fair Mask, proves Traitor to his Vow;
And thou the Temptress, and the Tempted thou!
Prepare thee then to meet th’ infernal War,
And dare beyond what Woman knows to dare.
Guard each Avenue to thy flutt’ring Heart,
And act the Sister’s and the Christian’s Part.
Heaven is the Guard of Virtue; scorn to yield,
When screened by Heaven’s impenetrable Shield.
Secure in this, defy th’ impending Storm,
Tho’ Satan tempt thee in an Angel’s Form.
And Oh! I see the fiery Trial near:
I see the Saint, in all his Forms, appear!
By Nature, by Religion taught to please,
With Conquest flush’d, and obstinate to press,
He lists his Virtues in the cause of Hell,
Heav’n, with celestial Arms, presumes t’ assail;
To veil, with semblance fair, the Fiend within,
And make his God subservient to his Sin!
Trembling I hear his horrid Vows renew’d.

I see him come, by Delia’s Groans pursued;
Poor injur’d Delia! all her Groans are vain;
Or he denies, or list’ning, mocks her Pain.
What tho’ her Eyes with ceaseless Tears o’reflow,
Her Bosom heave with agonizing Woe!
What tho’ the Horror of his Falsehood near,
Tear up her Faith and plunge her in Despair!

Yet can he think (so blind to Heav’ns Decree,
And the sure Fate of curs’d Apostasy)
Soon as he tells the Secret of his Breast,
And puts the Angel off—and stands confest;
When Love and Grief and Shame and Anguish meet,
To make his Crimes and Delia’s Wrongs complete,
That then the injur’d Maid will cease to grieve,
Behold him in a Sister’s Arm—and live?

Mistaken Wretch! by thy Unkindness hurl’d,
From Ease, from Love, from thee, and from the World,
Soon must she land on that immortal Shore,
Where Falsehood never can torment her more;
There all her Suff’rings, all her Sorrows cease,
Nor Saints turn Devils there, to vex her Peace.
Yet hope not then, all specious as thou art,
To taint, with impious Vows, her Sister’s Heart;
With proffer’d Worlds, her honest Soul to move,
Or tempt her Virtue to incestuous Love.

No! wert thou as thou wast! did Heav’ns first Rays
Beam on thy Soul, and all the Godhead blaze!
Sooner shall sweet Oblivion set us free
From Friendship, Love, thy Perfidy and thee:
Sooner shall Light in League with Darkness join,
Virtue and Vice, and Heav’n and Hell combine.
Than her pure Soul consent to mix with thine;
To share thy Sin, adopt thy Perjury,
And damn herself, to be reveng’d on thee;
To load her Conscience with a Sister’s Blood,
The Guilt of Incest, and the Curse of God!