 | Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose |  |
92
To the same.
My passion, tho' scorn'd, may be surely forgiven;'Tis hard to be blam'd for but thinking of Heaven:
Too humble a Lover to rank with pretenders,
If I bridle my tongue, can my eyes be offenders?
Indulging no hope, and no pity imploring,
Why should I be hated for only adoring?
| Miscellanies, in Verse and Prose | |