She now was promised choice of daintiest food,
And costly dress, that made her sovereign good;
With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen,
And summer-visits when the roads were clean.
All these she loved, to these she gave consent,
And she was married to her heart's content.

Their manner this-the Friends together read, Till books a cause for disputation bred; Debate then follow'd, and the vapour'd Child Declared they argued till her head was wild; And strange to her it was that mortal brain Could seek the trial, or endure the pain.

Then as the Friend reposed, the younger Pair Sat down to cards, and play'd beside his chair; Till he awaking, to his books applied,

Or heard the music of th' obedient Bride:
If mild the evening, in the fields they stray'd,
And their own flock with partial eye survey'd;
But oft the Husband, to indulgence prone,
Resumed his book, and bade them walk alone.

"Do, my kind Edward! I must take mine ease, "Name the dear girl the planets and the trees;

“Tell her what warblers pour their evening song, "What insects flutter, as you walk along; "Teach her to fix the roving thoughts, to bind "The wandering sense, and methodize the mind."

This was obey'd; and oft when this was done, They calmly gazed on the declining sun; In silence saw the glowing landscape fade, Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbour's shade: Till rose the moon, and on each youthful face Shed a soft beauty, and a dangerous grace.

When the young Wife beheld in long debate The friends, all careless as she seeming sate; It soon appear'd, there was in one combined The nobler person and the richer mind: He wore no wig, no grisly beard was seen, And none beheld him careless or unclean; Or watch'd him sleeping: :-we indeed have heard Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear'd; 'Tis seen in infants-there indeed we find The features soften'd by the slumbering mind; But other beauties, when disposed to sleep, Should from the eye of keen inspector keep: The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise, May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes;

Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes,
And all the homely features homelier makes;
So thought our Wife, beholding with a sigh
Her sleeping Spouse, and Edward smiling by.

A sick Relation for the Husband sent,
Without delay the friendly Sceptic went;
Nor fear'd the youthful Pair, for he had seen
The Wife untroubled, and the friend serene :
No selfish purpose in his roving eyes,
No vile deception in her fond replies:

So judged the Husband, and with judgment true,
For neither yet the guilt or danger knew.

What now remain'd? but they again should play Th' accustom'd game, and walk th' accustom'd way; With careless freedom should converse or read, And the Friend's absence neither fear nor heed: But rather now they seem'd confused, constrain'd; Within their room still restless they remain'd, And painfully they felt, and knew each other pain'd.— Ah! foolish men! how could ye thus depend, One on himself, the other on his friend?

The youth with troubled eye the Lady saw,

Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw;

While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys
Touching, was not one moment at her ease:
Now would she walk, and call her Friendly Guide,
Now speak of rain, and cast her cloke aside;
Seize on a book, unconscious what she read,
And restless still, to new resources fled;
Then laugh'd aloud, then tried to look serene,
And ever changed, and every change was seen.

Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shameThe trying day was past, another came; The third was all remorse, confusion, dread, And (all too late!) the fallen Hero fled.

Then felt the Youth, in that seducing time, How feebly Honour guards the heart from crime: Small is his native strength; man needs the stay, The strength imparted in the trying day; For all that Honour brings against the force Of headlong passion, aids its rapid course; Its slight resistance but provokes the fire, As wood-work stops the flame, and then conveys it higher.

The Husband came; a Wife by guilt made bold Had, meeting, sooth'd him, as in days of old;

But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress, And his Friend's absence, left him nought to guess.

Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade him write

"I cannot pardon, and I will not fight; "Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws, "And I too faulty to support my cause: "All must be punish'd; I must sigh alone, "At home thy victim for her guilt atone; "And thou, unhappy! virtuous now no more, "Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore; "Sinners with praise will pierce thee to the heart, "And Saints deriding, tell thee what thou art."

Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time, Felt in full force the censure and the crimeDespised, ashamed; his noble views before, And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more: Should he repent-would that conceal his shame? Could peace be his? It perish'd with his fame: Himself he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive; He fear'd to die, yet felt ashamed to live: Grieved, but not contrite was his heart; oppress'd, Not broken; not converted, but distress'd;