The RAKE. By a Lady in NEW ENGLAND. AN open heart, a generous mind, But passion's slave, and wild as wind: In theory, a judge of right; Tho' banish'd from its practice quite: So loose, so prostitute of soul, His nobler wit becomes the tool Of every importuning fool: A thousand virtues misapply'd; While reason floats on passion's tide: The ruin of the chaste and fair; The parent's curse, the virgin's snare: Whose false example leads astray The young, the thoughtless, and the gay: Yet, left alone to cooler thought, He knows, he sees, he feels his fault; He knows his fault, he feels, he views, Detesting what he most pursues: His judgment tells him, all his gains For fleeting joys, are lasting pains: Reason with appetite contending, Repenting still, and still offending: Abuser of the gifts of nature, A wretched, self-condemning creature, He passes o'er life's ill-trod stage; And dies, in youth, the prey of age! The scorn, the pity of the wise, Who love, lament him — and despise!