Can'st thou, e'en thus, thy thoughts to vengeance give,And, dead to all things else, to Malice live?Hence, Dotard, to thy closet, shut thee in,By deep repentance wash away thy sin,From haunts of men to shame and sorrow fly;And, on the verge of death, learn how to die.VAIN exhortation! wash the Ethiop white,Discharge the leopard's spots, turn day to night,Controul the course of Nature, bid the deepHush at thy Pygmy voice her waves to sleep,Perform things passing strange, yet own thy artToo weak to work a change in such a heart.That ENVY which was woven in the frameAt first, will to the last remain the same.Reason may droop, may die, but Envy's rageImproves by time, and gathers strength from age.Some, and not few, vain triflers with the pen,Unread, unpractis'd in the ways of men,Tell us that ENVY, who with giant strideStalks thro' the vale of life by Virtue's side,Retreats when she hath drawn her latest breath,And calmly hears her praises after death.0