(seq. 66)

60

Or by an accident may drive the back again

And crumble down thy soul till naught remains

But mere annihilation all destroy,d ~

Nor dost thou stop at this, but hedless lean

Upon fatality that sacrilege,

That generates the demon in thy breast,

And makes the shine a monster of deceit,

With vile ingratititude to make thy soul,

Thy passtime, & thy vilifying sport,

And dandling on the knees, the spurious brood,

Of infideleity; foul furies all,

That suck their nourishment from breast like thine

And sap thy soul for better and design'd ~

What monsters dost compose thy darling train

And which Aspatius pressses to his breast,

With all the fond endearments of a sire,

Solicitous to guard their helpless wants,

And crown their infant wishes with success

I would not wrong Aspatius of his faith,