Page:Cyder - a poem in two books (1708).djvu/52

BOOK I.  A jocund Pilgrim, tho' distress'd, he'll rove, Than break his plighted Faith; nor Fear, nor Hope, Will shock his stedfast Soul; rather debar'd Each common Privilege, cut off from Hopes Of meanest Gain, of present Goods despoil'd, He'll bear the Marks of Infamy, contemn'd, Unpity'd; yet his Mind, of Evil pure, Supports him, and Intention free from Fraud. If no Retinue with observant Eyes Attend him, if he can't with Purple stain Of cumbrous Vestments, labour'd o'er with Gold, Dazle the Croud, and set them all agape; Yet clad in homely Weeds, from Envy's Darts Remote he lives, nor knows the nightly Pangs Of Conscience, nor with Spectre's grisly Forms, Dæmons, and injur'd Souls, at Close of Day Annoy'd, sad interrupted Slumbers finds. But as a (Child, whose inexperienc'd Age   Rh