THE SHRUBBERY,

Written in a Time of Affliction.

1.

OH happy fhades! to me unbleft,

Friendly to peace, but not to me,

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

2.

This glaffy ftream, that fpreading pine,

Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze, Might footh a foul less hurt than mine, And please, if any thing could please.

But fixt unalterable care

3.

Foregoes not what fhe feels within, Shows the fame fadness ev'ry where,

And flights the season and the scene.

For

4.

For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,

While peace poffefs'd these filent bow'rs, Her animating fmile withdrawn,

Has loft its beauties and its pow'rs.

5.

The faint or moralist should tread

This mofs-grown alley, mufing flow,

They seek like me the secret shade,

But not like me, to nourish woe.

6.

Me fruitful scenes and profpects waste,
Alike admonish not to roam,

These tell me of enjoyments paft,

And thofe of forrows yet to come.

THE

THE

WINTER NOSE GAY.

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 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 fhe retreats,

From the cruel affaults of the clime. While earth wears a mantle of fnow,

These pinks are as fresh and as gay, As the fairest and sweetest that blow, On the beautiful bofom of May.

See

3.

See how they have fafely furviv'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 rofe,
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 addrefs'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,
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 fpleen.
-Sir Humphry shooting in the dark,
Makes anfwer quite befide the mark.
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
Engag'd myfelf to be at home,

And shall 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?
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 worfe.
Well, I proteft 'tis paft all bearing-
Child! I am rather hard of hearing-

Yes,