Will spare their proper young, though pinch'd for food;Nor will the Libyan lionesses slayTheir whelps,—but woman are more fierce than they;More barb'rous to the tender fruit they bear,Nor nature's call, tho' loud she cries, will hear.But righteous vengeance oft their crimes pursues,And they are lost themselves, who would theirchildren lose;The pois'nous drugs with mortal juices fillTheir veins, and, undesign'd, themselves they killThemselves upon the bier are breathless borne,With hair tied up that was in ringlets worn,Thro' weeping crowds that on their course attend;Well may they weep for their unhappy end.Forbid it, heaven, that what I say may provePresaging to the fair I blame and love;Thus let me ne'er, ye pow'rs, her death deplore,'Twas her first fault, and she'll offend no more;No pardon she'll deserve a second time,But, without mercy, punish then her crime.