On Seeing An Officer's Widow Distracted

O wretch! hath Madness cur'd thy dire Despair? Yes--All thy Sorrows now are light as Air: No more you mourn your once lov'd Husband's Fate, Who bravely perish'd for a thankless State. For rolling Years thy Piety prevail'd; At length, quite sunk--thy Hope, thy Patience fail'd: Distracted now you tread on Life's last Stage, Nor feel the Weight of Poverty and Age: How blest in this, compar'd with those, whose Lot Dooms them to Miseries, by you forgot! Now, wild as Winds, you from your Off--spring fly, Or fright them from you with distracted Eye; Rove thro' the Streets; or sing, devoid of Care, With ratter'd Garments, and dishevell'd Hair; By hooting Boys to higher Phrenzy fir'd, At length you fink, by cruel Treatment tir'd, Sink into Sleep, an Emblem of the Dead, A Stone thy Pillow, the cold Earth thy Bed. O tell it not; let none the Story hear, Lest Britain's Martial Sons should learn to fear: And when they next the hostile Wall attack, Feel the Heart fail, the lifted Arm grow slack; And pausing cry--Tho' Death we scorn to dread, Our Orphan Off--spring, must they pine for Bread? See their lov'd Mothers into Prisons thrown; And, unreliev'd, in iron Bondage groan? BRITAIN, for this impending Ruin dread; Their Woes call loud for Vengeance on thy Head: Nor wonder, if Disasters wait your Fleets; Nor wonder at Complainings in your Streets: Be timely wise; arrest th' uplifted Hand, Ere Pestilence or Famine sweep the Land.