4.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While peace poffefs'd these filent bow'rs,
Her animating smile withdrawn,

Haft loft its beauties and its pow'rs.

5.

The faint or moralist should tread
This mofs-grown alley, mufing flow,
They feek like me the fecret fhade,

But not like me, to nourish woe.

6.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects wafte,

Alike admonish not to roam,
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And thofe of forrows yet to come.

HE

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.

1.

WHAT nature, alas! has denied

To the delicate growth of our isle,

Art has in a measure supplied,

And winter is deck'd with a smile.

See Mary what beauties I bring

From the shelter of that funny fhed,

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

2.

Tis a bow'r of Arcadian fweets,

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 snow,

These pinks are as fresh and as gay, As the fairest and sweetest that blow,

On the beautiful bofom of May.

See

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

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

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE,

Neceffary to the Happiness of the Married State.

THE lady thus address'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,

Are

Are fuch an antiquated scene,

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

And shall expect him at the door
Precisely when the clock ftrikes four,
You are so 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 muft fcream 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 farewel all that muft create
The comfort of the wedded state,

Instead