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Walker, Printer, near the Duke's Palace, Norwich.
An Address, &c.
My pen I take, my wretched fate to state, Pardon, oh pardon, tho' a vile ingrate; Your daughter late so innocent and gay, Was by a vile seducer led astray From those chase precepts by you taught to know, That he who sets above knows all below; Either on earth or in the heavenly skies, Each substance falls or as he wishes rise. I fell a victim to unchaste desires, And feel those sorrows vengeance now requires, After I left a parent's house and home, Induced with wicked Henry to roam; That sweet society my bosom knew, From me that instant bade a long adieu. Time, I much fear, will not that balm restore; Its fled from me and will return no more. I know that sweet compassion fills your mind, And to forgiveness ever was inclin'd; Take then your daughter to your arms again, And she from latent vices will abstain. With pious thoughts she'll pass the day away, Till stern reproof is banish'd far away; Too well I know that censure will appear, In every mansion when Maria's there; Soon as the vengeance of her sting is cast, The scoffers arrogance no longer last; Too true I know that woes I'm doom'd to bear, The unfeeling frown the virgin's haughty sneer; In time they'll vanish when its known I rove, In virtue's path with innocence and love. My prayers I'll offer to the throne on high, And live as ordered by the Deity. Lately I met my Mother's upper maid, To ask her questions I was much afraid; Yet ere I bade the honest girl adieu, Nature compell'd me to inquire of you: She said my mother fell a prey to grief, And that no medicine could give relief; In stating this a tear escaped her eye. Return she cried, then heaved a tender sigh: I will return and ere her spirits fled, Press my lov'd mother on her couch or bed. For pity's sake write me a line to say, If I to you may speedy bend my way; This boon is all I ask and now I crave, A parent's blessing ere I meet the grave.
My pen but faintly can declare, The virtues of his mind; Well he deserves the friendly tear, From those he leaves behind.
Dissimulation could not rest A moment on his face, No wicked thoughts annoy'd his breast, Nor envy found a place.
To friends and neighbours was sincere, He cheerful pass'd the day; His memory many will revere, Till they are call'd away.
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