BALLAD. (To a slight common wound it is…)

To a slight common wound it is some diminution, Diverting its throbbing, to smile at the smart, But where's the firm mind can boast such resolution, In the face to wear smiles when the wound's in the heart?

The wand'rings and errors of folly are treason, And should be condemned as disloyal to love, But reverence is due to the errors of reason, Which, though they're a weakness, we're forced to approve.

Then pray cease to jest, were my griefs superficial, Unconcerned, like yourself Sir, I merry might be, But such cruel jests can but prove prejudicial, And though pastime to you, may be mortal to me.

Yet let me not wrong you by any rude mention, Or word that the fairness of candour might blot, But gratefully just, may alone the intention In my memory be cherished, the action forgot.