On seeing an Officer's Widow distracted who had been driven to Despair, by a long and fruitless Sollicitation for the Arrears of her Pension. Mary Barber Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42622 519 p. 45 Barber, Mary, ca. 1690-1757. Poems on Several Occasions [poems only]. London Printed for C. Rivington, at the Bible and Crown in St. Paul's Church-Yard 1734 pp. 233-235. xlviii,283,[7]p.; 8⁰.

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On seeing an Officer's Widow distracted who had been driven to Despair , by a long and fruitless Sollicitation for the Arrears of her Pension . O wretch ! hath Madness cur'd thy dire Despair ? Yes — All thy Sorrows now are light as Air : No more you mourn your once lov'd Husband's Fate , Who bravely perish'd for a thankless State . For rolling Years thy Piety prevail'd ; At length , quite sunk — thy Hope , thy Patience fail'd : Distracted now you tread on Life's last Stage , Nor feel the Weight of Poverty and Age : How blest in this , compar'd with those , whose Lot Dooms them to Miseries , by you forgot ! Now , wild as Winds , you from your Off-spring fly , Or fright them from you with distracted Eye ; Rove thro' the Streets ; or sing , devoid of Care , With ratter'd Garments , and dishevell'd Hair ; By hooting Boys to higher Phrenzy fir'd , At length you sink , by cruel Treatment tir'd , Sink into Sleep , an Emblem of the Dead , A Stone thy Pillow , the cold Earth thy Bed . O tell it not ; let none the Story hear , Lest Britain's Martial Sons should learn to fear : And when they next the hostile Wall attack , Feel the Heart fail , the lifted Arm grow slack ; And pausing cry — Tho' Death we scorn to dread , Our Orphan Off-spring , must they pine for Bread ? See their lov'd Mothers into Prisons thrown ; And , unreliev'd , in iron Bondage groan ? BRITAIN , for this impending Ruin dread ; Their Woes call loud for Vengeance on thy Head : Nor wonder , if Disasters wait your Fleets ; Nor wonder at Complainings in your Streets : Be timely wise ; arrest th' uplifted Hand , Ere Pestilence or Famine sweep the Land .