With purpos'd malice seeking out the foe,
Alternate by reprisal and revenge,
Doubly compensate each discomfiture,
Yet seek not to attack each-other's home,
Where Age, and Infancy, in safety dwell:
They war but with freebooters: private Peace
And Female Covert, Valour scorns to assail.
But when in evil hour some female hand,
Whether by force of Love, or force of Arms,
Is led across the desart by the Foe;
The jealous fury kindles to a flame:
No longer sacred the domestic hearth:
Fire, Death, and Devastation, mark their way,
And all the horrid crimes of savage War.
Now War becomes the business of the State:
The most humane, the most pacific men,
Must arm for War, or lose all they hold dear:
The sorrows of the Aged, Infant cries,
And Female Tears, resistlessly prevail:
Can gentlest natures be in love with Peace,
When Love, most tender Love, excites to War?
No.... When some lov'd and honour'd youth distrest'd,
Raising his head amongst his arm'd compeers,
Tells that the well-known honourable Maid,
The Virgin Mistress of his dearest hopes,
Is ravish'd from him, borne by force away;
Though pierc'd with grief, yet nobly he exclaims,
'Think not I wish to embroil you in my fate:
'For though not one of you espouse my cause,
'I singly will attempt the desperate deed.