V.

A querulous old woman's voice

His hum'rous talent next employs
He scolds and gives the lie.

And now he sings, and now is sick-
Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick;

Poor Poll is like to die!

VI.

Belinda and her bird! 'tis rare

To meet with such a well match'd pair,

The language and the tone,

Each character in ev'ry part

Sustain'd with so much

grace

and art,

And both in unison.

VII.

When children first begin to spell,

And stammer out a syllable,

We think them tedious creatures;

But difficulties soon abate,

When birds are to be taught to prate,

And women are the teachers.

THE SHRUBBERY.

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION.

I.

Он, happy shades-to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!

How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!

II. .

This glassy stream, that spreading pine, Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze, Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine, And please, if any thing could please.

III.

But fix'd unalterable care

Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness ev'ry where,

And slights the season and the scene.

IV.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,

While peace possess'd these silent bow'rs, Her animating smile withdrawn,

Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.

V.

The saint or moralist should tread

This moss-grown alley, musing, slow;

They seek, like me, the secret shade,
But not, like me, to nourish woe!

VI.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;

These tell me of enjoyments past,

And those of sorrows yet to come.

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.

I.

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 sunny shed,

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

II.

"Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets,

Where Flora is still in her prime,

A fortress, to which she retreats

From the cruel assaults 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 bosom of May.

III.

See how they have safely surviv'd
The frowns of a sky so severe;

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

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

And the winter of sorrow best shows
The truth of a friend such as you.

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE

NECESSARY 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