III.

See how they have fafely surviv'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 fpoufe

What a mere dungeon is this house,

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

Are

Are fuch an antiquated scene,

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

And fhall expect him at the door
Precifely 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?
Difmif's poor Harry, he replies,

Some people are more nice than wife,
For one flight trespass 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 strife,
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 fpar'd,
Then farewell all that muft create
The comfort of the wedded state,

Inftead

Instead of harmony, 'tis jar

And tumult, and inteftine war.

The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against ficknefs and old age,

Preferv'd by virtue from declenfion,
Becomes not weary of attention,
But lives, when that exterior grace
Which first infpir'd the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate and kind,

To faults compaffionate or blind,
And will with fympathy endure
Thofe evils it would gladly cure,

But angry, coarfe, and harfh expreffion
Shows love to be a mere profeffion,

Proves that the heart is none of his,

Or foon expels him if it is.

To

An Invitation into the Country.

I.

THE swallows in their torpid state,

Compose their ufelefs wing,

And bees in hives as idly wait
The call of early spring.

II.

The keenest froft that binds the ftream,

The wildeft wind that blows,

Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,

Secure of their repofe.

III.

But man, all feeling and awake,

The gloomy scene surveys,

With prefent ills his heart must ach,

And pant for brighter days.

lV Old