Fair or foul, younglings' foe I ween is! Wag it as wish thou, at its will, When out of doors its hope fulfil; Him bar I, modestly, methinks. But should ill-mind or lust's high jinks Thee (Sinner!), drive to sin so dread, That durst ensnare our dearling's head, Ah! woe's thee (wretch!) and evil fate,