Verses on a Distressed Family, That Were Ruined by a Great Man's Promise

No, no, I will no more believe,
Or listen to thy tale,
Thou shalt no more my ear deceive—
Thy promises are stale.

No more the fancy'd prospect view,
That charm'd my anxious eyes,
Which thou uncharitably drew,
Thy falshoods to disguise.

For ever darken'd be the scene,
That led me first astray;
Where Hope was clad in lively green,
And Promises were May.

Ah, why should that strong anchor'd maid,
Lend knaves so fair a cloak?
For promises with Varo fade,
Before they well are spoke.

Hence, thou bewitching, smiling fiend,
Thou shalt no more delude;
Thy word is smoke, thy promise wind,
But ah, what wind so rude?

Now on a wide and troubl'd sea,
Am I for ever tost?
And, Varo, when I think on thee,
My peace of mind is lost.

The mournful partner of my breast,
My little cherubs too,
Alas, my heart is sore distress'd,
When ere I think of you.

How does it rack me to dispair,
To hear my Mira sigh;
Or when the big heart-cleving tear,
Stands trembling in her eye.

When round my knees, with lisping grief,
My little dear ones prate;
I once cou'd give their wants relief,
But now it is too late.

Bereft of all domestic joys,
I strive to hope in vain;
A broken promise oft destroys,
But seldom cures again.