So when some grave, deep-learned, sound divine Ascends the pulpit, and unfolds his text: Dark and more dark grows what he would define, And every sentence more and more perplext; Yet still he blunders on the same blind course, Teaching his weary'd hearers patience upon force. Without firm patience who could ever bear The great man's levee, watching for a smile? Then, with a whisper'd promise in bis ear, Wait its accomplishment a long, long while; Yet thro' the bounds of patience if he burst, Daniel's long weeks of years may be accomplish'd first. O Patience! guardian of the temper'd breast, Against the insolence of pride and power; Against the wit's keen sneer, the fool's dull jest; Against the boaster's lie, told o'er and o'er; To thee this tributary lay I bring, "See there, on the top of that oak, how the doves Sit brooding each other, and cooing their loves: Our loves are thus tender, thus mutual our joy, When folded on each other's bosom we lie. "It glads me to see how the pretty young lambs Are fondled and cherish'd, and lov'd by their dams: The lambs are less pretty, my dearest, than thee; green; By whose firm aid empower'd, in raging pain I sing. Her virtues will bloom as her beauties decay. The charms of my Kitty are constant as they; KITTY. A PASTORAL. BENEATH a cool shade, by the side of a stream, Thus breath'd a fond shepherd, his Kitty his theme: "Thy beauties comparing, my dearest," said he, "There's nothing in Nature so lovely as thee. "Tho' distance divides us, I view thy dear face, "See, see how that rose there adorns the gay bush, "Observe that fair lily, the pride of the vale, "The Zephyrs that fan me beneath the cool shade, When panting with heat on the ground I am laid, Are less grateful and sweet than the heavenly air That breathes from her lips when she whispers'My dear.' "I hear the gay lark, as she mounts in the skies, "With pleasure I watch the industrious bee, "But in vain I compare her, here's nothing so bright, And darkness approaches to hinder my sight: To bed I will hasten, and there all her charms, In softer ideas, I'll bring to my arms." COLIN'S KISSES. SONG I. THE TUTOR. COME, my fairest, learn of me, Learn to give and take the bliss; Come, my love, here's none but we, I'll instruct thee how to kiss. Why turn from me that dear face?" Why that blush, and down-cast eye? Come, come, meet my fond embrace, And the mutual rapture try. Throw thy lovely twining arms Round my neck, or round my waist; And whilst I devour thy charms, Let me closely be embrac'd: Then when soft ideas rise, And the gay desires grow strong; To my breast with rapture cling, To endear the fond embrace. In soft whispers let me hear; And let speaking nature prove Every extasy sincere. SONG II. THE IMAGINARY KISS. WHEN Fanny I saw as she tript o'er the green, Fast rivetted down to the place; SONG IV. THE STOLEN KISS. ON a mossy bank reclin'd, Beauteous Chloe lay reposing, O'er her breast each am'rous wind Wanton play'd, its sweets disclosing: Tempted with the swelling charms, Colin, happy swain, drew nigh her, Softly stole into her arms, Laid his scrip and sheep-hook by her. O'er her downy panting breast His delighted fingers roving; Pleas'd, yet frowning to conceal it, SONG V. THE MEETING KISS. LET me fly into thy arms; Let me clasp thy lovely waist; Hearts with mutual pleasure glowing; SONG VI. THE PARTING KISS. ONE kind kiss before we part, Till we meet shall pant for you. All my soul and all my heart, And every wish shall pant for you; One kind kiss then e'er we part, Drop a tear, and bid adieu. SONG VII. THE BORROWED KISS. SEE, I languish, see, I faint, I must borrow, beg, or steal; One sweet kiss, I ask no more; Chloe heard, and with a smile, Kind, compassionate and sweet, "Colin, it's a sin to steal, And for me to give's not meet: But I'll lend a kiss, or twain, To poor Colin in distress; Not that I'd be paid again, Colin, I mean nothing less." SONG VIII. THE KISS REPAID. CHLOE, by that borrow'd kiss, I, alas! am quite undone; 'Twas so sweet, so fraught with bliss, Thousands will not pay that one. "Lest the debt should break your heart," Roguish Chloe smiling cries, "Come, a hundred then in part, For the present shall suffice." SONG IX. THE SECRET KISS. AT the silent evening hour, Sought their mutual bliss; "Since this secret shade," he cry'd, "Will those rosy blushes hide, Why will you resist? When no tell-tale spy is near us, Her breast soft wishes fill; SONG X. THE RAPTURE. Those dear eyes, how soft they languish ! Look not so divinely on me, Cælia, I shall die with bliss; Yet, yet turn those eyes upon me, Who'd not die a death like this? SONG XI. THE RECONCILING KISS. "WHY that sadness on thy brow? Why that starting crystal tear? Dearest Polly, let me know, For thy grief I cannot bear." Polly with a sigh reply'd, "What need I the cause impart? Did you not this moment chide? And you know it breaks my heart." Colin, melting as she spoke, Caught the fair one in his arms; I'd no anger in my thought; All the face of Nature smiles: By her Colin's kind embrace, Her declining head up-rear'd, Sweetly smiling in his face. SONG XIII. THE MUTUAL KISS. "CELIA, by those smiling graces Which my panting bosom warm; By the heaven of thy embraces, By thy wond'rous power to charm; By those soft bewitching glances, Which my inmost bosom move; Cælia, with a blush, replies; By those arms around me thrown; By that look, which truth expresses, My fond heart is all thy own." Thus, with glowing inclination, They indulge the tender bliss; And to bind the lasting passion, Seal it with a mutual kiss: Close, in fond embraces, lying, They together seem to grow; Such supreme delight enjoying, As true lovers only know. THE WIFE. A FRAGMENT. THE virtues that endear and sweeten life, Hail, lovely Woman! Nature's blessing, hail! Whose charms o'er all the powers of man prevail: Thou healing balm of life, which bounteous To pour on all our woes, has kindly given! Grant some are bad: yet surely some remain, Nearthat fam'd hill, from whose enchanting brow Such various scenes enrich the vales below; While gentle Thames meandering glides along, Meads, flocks, and groves, and rising towers Fidelia dwelt: fair as the fairest scene [among, Of smiling Nature, when the sky's serene. Full sixteen suminers had adorn'd her face, Warm'd every sense, and waken'd every grace; Her eye look'd sweetness, gently heav'd her breast, Her shape, her motion, graceful case exprest. And to this fair, this finish'd form, were jou'd The softest passions, and the purest mind. Among the neighbouring youths who strove to gain Fidelia's heart, Lysander made his addresses. He was a younger brother, of a good family, but small fortune. His person was handsome and genteel, his manners easy and engaging. With these advantages he soon obtained a place in yourg Fidelia's heart; and, as her fortune, which was very considerable, was in her own dispose, there was no obstacle to their happiness; with all the eloquence of a lover, he pressed the consummation of his wishes, a tender softness pleads within her breast, she yields to the force of his persuasions, and they are married. Who can express the pleasures which they now enjoy? To make her happy seemed the scope of all his actions, and such a growing fondness warmed her heart, that every day endeared him more and more. The fortune which she brought he managed with prudence and discretion; and the pleasure which he found in her sweet behaviour, and enchanting beauties, repaid his cares with interest. Thus flew the hours, winged with delight; the day passed not without some new ' endearment; and the night felt nameless raptures, or serene repose. Before the end of two years their loves were crowned with a smiling boy. If any thing could increase their fondness of each other it was this engaging pledge of their affection. But, alas! how variable is the heart of man! how easily are his passions inflamed! how soon his best affections altered! and reason, which should be his guide, is but as the light of a candle, which the least gust of passion can puff out, and quite extinguish. Of this unhappy truth, Lysander soon became a fatal instance. ing virtue trusted to thy hand! how canst thou leave that angel-sweetness, that untainted rose, for paint, polluted charms, and prostitution! how canst thou see thy tender innocent babe suck with its milk those grief-distilling drops that fall incessant on her snowy breast, for thy unkind neglect! Unfeeling wretch! But what is man not capable to do, when blind with passion, hardened with his guilt? Alas! this is but the beginning of her woes; and nothing to the grief this hapless fair one is ordained to suffer. Indifference is soon succeeded by ill nature and ill usage. He now no longer makes a secret of his base intrigue. Whole days and nights are spent in her lewd chambers, shameless and open in the sight of the world, and in the very face of his insulted, injured, unof fending wife. But this was not enough. Home, and the sight of this affrouted, yet still patient virtue, became uneasy and disgustful He is therefore determined to remove her from him. But the means of It happened at this time, whether by accident or design I know not, that a creature of exquisite beauty, but of infamous character, came to lodge exactly over against the house of this, till then, most happy pair. As Lysander was not only possest of a handsome person, but now also of an ample fortune, immediately a thousand arts were tried by this inveigling harlot, to attract his observation, and if possible to ensnare his heart. At her window, in his sight, she would appear in a loose and tempting dishabille, Now in a seeming negli-bringing this about were as infamous, as the degence discover her white naked breasts, then with a leering smile pretend to hide them from his sight. Her wanton eyes, all sparkling with delight, she now would fix with eagerness upon him; then in a soft and languishing air by slow degrees withdraw, yet looking back as loath to leave the place. As Lysander had too much experience of the world, not to understand this amorous language, so his heart was too susceptible of the tender passion not to feel its force. And unable to withstand the daily repetition of these provoking temptations, he at last determined to go over privately one evening and make her a visit. It will be needless to say he was kindly received, how kindly, will be better imagined than expressed. Here had he stopped, this one transgression might have been forgiven: but such was his infatuation, that from this time his visits became frequent: he was so intoxicated with her charms (for indeed she was handsome) and so bewitched with her alluring blandishments, that the modest beauty of his fair and virtuous wife became at once neglected, and at length despised. sire of doing it was cruel. His valet de chambre, whose name was Craven, had lived with him some years, and was a man whom he found to be capable of any villany he should think fit to employ him in. This man he prevailed with, by large gifts and many promises, to conceal himself in Fidelia's bed-chamber, "and continue there," said he to him, "till after she is in bed; when I will come in and pretend to surprise you with her: and in the confusion which will follow, do you slip out of the room, and make your escape." This detestable scheme was no sooner concerted, than it was put in execution. He that very evening found means to hide himself in the chamber of this innocent lady, who at her usual hour repaired to rest. After committing herself to Heaven, and with a shower of tears bewailing her hard fate, she closed her eyes in sleep. Protect her, Heaven, support her in this hour, when he who should protect her and support, is basely undermining and betraying her! Sleep had no sooner closed her grief-swo!n eyes, than her husband rushed into the chamber, and with feign'd rage and frightful imprecations demanded the adulterer. Surprised with terrour and astonishment she started from her sleep, and in a trembling voice desired to know the occasion of his anger. He gave no answer to her ertreaties, but continuing his pretended rage, sought every corner of the room; and from beneath the bed at length pulled out the hidden traitor. This unexpected sight, and the appearance of so shock Poor Fidelia! who can express the agonies of her heart when first the fatal secret she discovered? Conscious on how many accounts she merited his love, pride and resentment for some time struggled with her affection; but such was the softness of her nature, such the tenderness of her passion, that she was not able to reproach him any other way than by a silent grief. Alone she pined, and like a lily in the secret vale drooped her fairing a discovery, so terrified the poor amazed head, unfriended and unseen. Of what must be his heart, that such endearing softness could not melt, that such engaging virtue shamed not into goodness! But such is the nature of vice, that it hardens the heart to all humane and generous impressions. At first, perhaps, his virtue made some efforts in her favour; but the trouble it cost him to suppress them when the rage of his newkindled flame returned, made him by degrees unwilling to indulge them. Thus endeavouring to smother all remains of gratitude or compassion, he became at length as insensible to her grief as to her wrongs. Fidelia, that, for a time, her senses seemed suspended. While thus her husband: "Is this, madam, the truth, the purity which you so much pretended! Is this your innocence! Is this the secret idol of your false devotion! Dissembling harlot! I long indeed have had suspicions what you were, at last I have pulled off the mask, and my pretended saint is now detected." "O Heaven and Earth!" cried out Fidelia, "do you then believe me guilty? do you believe I know aught of this vile man! that I encouraged, or that I concealed him! Suspected what I am! Good Heaven, what am I? Am I not your wife? Barbarian! how canst thou lavish on abandoned would God I were not! O Lysander, there needvileness that wealth, which love and unsuspected not this; my heart before was broke, why would you murder too my innocence?" "Your innocence!" returned the brute: "and have you the assurance after this to talk of innocence? No, no, madam, I will not murder your innocence, the law shall do you justice." Saying this, he turned from her and was going to leave the room; when falling on her knees, and catching hold of his coat, in broken accents and a flood of tears, she thus addrest him: "O Lysander, O my dear | husband! if yet it is permitted me to call you by that name, let me entreat, nay beg upon my knees, you will not thus expose my yet untainted name to public infamy, nor let the leprous blast of scandal-bearing tongues make foul my spotless honour. I shall not long stand in the way of your pleasures; my bursting heart can hold but a very little while; O let me irave the world unblemished! then shall I die in peace, and my last parting breath shall bless and call you kind. But if I must not, as I sadly fear I must not stay; O let me in some friendly darksome night, when not an eye can see me, steal from your house, my infant in my arms, and wandering to some lonely hut, or distant village, die there unknown in silent grief, for I will never complain, and save you the reproach of having used me thus." This last proposal was the very thing he wished; so turning to her with a scornful look, he told her she might take her brat and go whither she would as soon as she pleased; then breaking rudely from her, left her on the floor. What language can express the agonies she felt at this hard usage! she arose from the floor where his barbarity bad left her, and putting on the meanest clothes she had, went to the bed where lay her sleeping babe, kissed and wept over it for some time, then took it in her arms, and laying it to her breast, departed from her house that very night. Here for the present let us leave this poor unhappy wanderer, with Providence her sole guide, and innocence her comfort; and turn to see what punishment will be prepared for her perfidious and inhuman husband. Now unrestrained he lived with his lewd paramour in all the heights of luxury and extravagance, and every pleasure for a while appeared to wait on his command. But soon her wanton waste and boundless riot brought him to distress. And go to Heaven a nearer way "Most holy father, I have been, Nay," quoth the pope, sir, if you hum And now the poor man bends his knee; "Poor!" quoth the pope," then cease your suit, Indeed you may as well be muté; Forbear your now too late contrition, You're in a reprobate condition. What! spend your wealth, and from the whole Not save one souse to save your soul? Oh, you're a sinner, and a hard one, I wonder you can ask a pardon: Friend, they're not had, unless you buy 'em, |