The Libertine Poem by Maria Frances Cecilia Cowper

SAY, wretched wanderer, whom the world insnares,
Do all thy joys compensate half thy cares?
Where is the balm to ease the aching breast,
When sudden sickness steals thy wonted rest;
When Sleep on downy wings flies swift away,
And thou in anguish wait'st the dawn of day?
The day new dawns; but sadder gloom it wears
Than dreary night, the nurse of guilty fears.
And must 'the gallant, gay Lothario' die?
That pleasing form in Death's rude mansion lie?
Must he relinquish to his hated heir
The gilded equipage and glittering star?
No more in courts eclipse the brilliant's blaze,
Whilst envying crowds in busy murmur gaze?
Of each gay circle once the gayest part
(Unsoothing triumph to his mournful heart,
Where peaceless thoughts of guilt and folly flow,
And all enhance his dread of endless woe.)
Upbraiding Sin the yawning gulf prepares,
And Death with complicated gloom appears.
What matchless terrors rack his frenzied brain!
His speech is wildness, and his prayer profane
In broken sounds he challenges his God,
And dies beneath the justice of his rod.