 | Metrical Effusions |  |
200
SONNET.
Slander! thy name I will not woman call,For often, in the garb of either sex,
I see thee play thy sorry pranks to vex
Thy betters from the cottage to the hall.
Whether with whining tongue, or crafty scrawl,
Thou circulate thy blasphemies abroad,
Truth holds a mirror to reflect thy fraud,
And justice hath decreed thy speedy fall.
Then shall the fiends that follow'd in thy train
Be foremost to pursue thee with disdain,
And only folly at thy fate repine:
Malice shall charge thee with her foul misdeeds,
And injur'd innocence, whose bosom bleeds,
Shall hear with pity every plaint but thine.
| Metrical Effusions | |