TO MRS. B. BENDISH.
Against Tears.
I
Madam, persuade me tears are good
To wash our mortal cares away;
These eyes shall weep a sudden flood,
And stream into a briny sea.
II
Or if these orbs are hard and dry,
(These orbs that never use to rain)
Some star direct me where to buy
One sov'reign drop for all my pain.
III
Were both the golden Indies mine,
I'd give both Indies for a tear:
I'd barter all but what's divine:
Nor shall I think the bargain dear.
IV
But tears, alas! are trifling things,
They rather feed than heal our woe;
From trickling eyes new sorrow springs,
As weeds in rainy seasons grow.
V
Thus weeping urges weeping on;
In vain our miseries hope relief,
For one drop calls another down,
Till we are drown'd in seas of grief.
VI
Then let these useless streams be staid,
Wear native courage on your face:
These vulgar things were never made
For souls of a superior race.
VII
If 'tis a rugged path you go,
And thousand foes your steps surround,
Tread the thorns down, charge thro' the foe:
The hardest fight is highest crown'd.
