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27

AIR XI.

[_]

Tune, “To you fair Ladies now on land.”

Justice.
The world, a faithless ocean, tost
By passion's stormy wind,
Is spread with spoils of thousands lost,
The wreck of human kind;
Where all the freight their vessels bear,
Is but a wilful weight of care.

Dol lol, &c.

II

For what can Reason's feeble hand,
Before the helm perform,
Where he can spy nor port, nor land,
To scape from stress, or storm—
Where Hope, amid the raging main,
Her anchor casts,—but casts in vain?
Dol lol, &c.

III

O turn, misguided wights!—return
To us, who smile on shore!
To us, who, yet, your errors mourn,
Your safety who implore!
Your forfeit peace with us renew,
Who shed no tears—except for you.
Dol lol, &c.