University of Virginia Library

Oft pale-ey'd Poverty, in sullen state,
Stalks round, and threatens to deform my fate;
Points to the future times, and grinning says,
‘Old age and I shall curse thy ev'ning days:
His shaking hand shall change thy locks to grey,
Thy head to baldness, and thy strength to clay;
Make thy sad hor'zon with dark tempests roll,
And lead me forward to complete the whole;
To count thy groans, to hear thee hopeless mourn.
And wave these trophies o'er thy closing urn.’