"Yet, to the stoic apathy estrang'd, / Thou canst, with steady courage, probe to th' quick / The wound thou mean'st to cure; thou canst reprove / With all the sweet persuasion of esteem: / And give a momentary pang, to free / The worthy mind from its ignoble chain."
— Dodd, William (1729-1777)
At noon, at mid-day; for thy tender heart,
Studious to kindle Satisfaction's glow
In each rose-tinctur'd cheek, disdains to wound,
With slightest pain, the humblest; thou wouldst wipe
The tear from ev'ry eye; and even the worm
Beneath thy feet, compassionate, wouldst save
From the least pang of corporal sufferance!
Yet, to the stoic apathy estrang'd,
Thou canst, with steady courage, probe to th' quick
The wound thou mean'st to cure; thou canst reprove
With all the sweet persuasion of esteem:
And give a momentary pang, to free
The worthy mind from its ignoble chain.
Tho' on the swiftest wings of panting love
Thou wouldst fly forth to work a brother's weal,
Thoughtless of toil;--yet art thou never led
An easy captive, with compliance mean,
At the soft lure of every syren song,
Which trills delusive: thou art of thy steps
No less observant, than of thy compeers,
Slow chosen, long approv'd; and firm can'st stand
The noisy dash of ignorant Vice's waves.
Not so that counterfeit, who oft assumes
Thy name respectful, giglet, light, and base,
Daughter of Folly; whose unmeaning front
Wears the soft simper of perpetual smiles!
Unballasted by virtue, and seduc'd
Ever to follow the gay painted barge,
That with obstreperous tumult spreads its sails,
Its silken sails, as pleasure's gales shall blow
Upon Simplicity's most perilous main:
Improvident of danger; and of chart,
Of compass, and of anchor, madly void!