Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great;The Slave of Pomp, a Cypher in the State;Lordly neglectful of a Worth unknown,And slumb'ring in a Seat, by chance my own.FAR nobler Blessings wait the Bastard's Lot;Conceiv'd in Rapture, and with Fire begot!Strong as Necessity, he starts away,Climbs against Wrongs and brightens into Day.THUS unprophetic, lately misinspir'd,I sung: Gay flatt'ring Hope, my Fancy fir'd;Inly secure, thro' conscious Scorn of Ill,Nor taught by Wisdom, how to ballance Will,Rashly deceiv'd, I saw no Pits to shun;But thought to purpose, and to act were one;Heedless what pointed Cares pervert his Way,Whom Caution arms not, and whom Woes betray;0