IV.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,

While peace poffefs'd these filent bow'rs,

Her animating fimile withdrawn,

Has loft its beauties and its pow'rs.

V.

The faint or moralift fhould tread

This mofs grown alley, mufing flow,

They seek like me the secret shade,

But not like me to nourish woe.

VI.

Me fruitful scenes and profpects wafte,
Alike admonish not to roam,

These tell me of enjoyments past,
And thofe of forrows yet to come.

THE

L

WHAT nature, alas! has denied

To the delicate growth of our ifle,]

Art has in a measure supplied,

And winter is deck'd with a smile.

See Mary what beauties I bring

From the fhelter of that funny fhed,

Where the flow'rs have the charms of the fpring,
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.

II.

Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets,

Where Flora is ftill in her prime,

A fortrefs to which the retreats,

From the cruel affaults of the clime.

While earth wears a mantle of fnow,
Thefe pinks are as fresh and as gay,
As the faireft and sweetest that blow

On the beautiful bofom of May.

See

III.

See how they have fafely furviv'd

The frowns of a sky fo fevere,

Such Mary's true love that has liv'd
Through many a turbulent year.

The charms of the late blowing rofe,
Seem grac'd with a livelier hue,

And the winter of forrow best shows
The truth of a friend, fuch as you.

MUTUAL FOR BEARANCE

Neceffary to the Happiness of the Married State.

THE lady thus addrefs'd her spouse

What a mere dungeon is this house,

By no means large enough, and was it,
Yet this dull room and that dark closet,
Thofe hangings with their worn-out graces,
Long beards, long nofes, and pale faces,

Arc

Are fuch an antiquated scene,

They overwhelm me with the spleen.
-Sir Humphry shooting in the dark,
Makes anfwer quite befide the mark :
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
Engag'd myself to be at home,

And fhall expect him at the door
Precisely when the clock ftrikes four.
You are fo deaf, the lady cried,
(And rais'd her voice and frown'd befide)
You are fo fadly deaf, my dear,

What fhall I do to make you hear?
Difmifs poor Harry, he replies,

Some people are more nice than wife,
For one flight trefpafs all this ftir ?
What if he did ride whip and fpur,
Twas but a mile-your fav'rite horse
'Will never look one hair the worse.
Well, I proteft 'tis paft all bearing-

Child! I am rather hard of hearing

Yes,

Yes, truly-one must scream and bawl,
I tell you you can't hear at all.
Then with a voice exceeding low,

No matter if you hear or no.

Alas! and is domestic ftrife,
That foreft ill of human life,
A plague fo little to be fear'd,
As to be wantonly incurr'd;
To gratify a fretful paffion,
On ev'ry trivial provocation?

The kindeft and the happiest pair,
Will find occafion to forbear,

And fomething ev'ry day they live
To pity, and perhaps, forgive.
But if infirmities that fall

In common to the lot of all,

A blemish or a fense impair'd,
Are crimes fo little to be spar'd,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state,