At length arous'd she feels her wonted flame,
Revives, and opens to the voice of Fame;
She sees new triumphs rising to her view,
And wing'd by rapture, to Vienna flew.

'Twas night, lull'd softly by the western breeze,
Fair Austria slumber'd on the couch of Ease:
When as of old the first infernal pow'r
Stole on the sweets of Eden's nuptial bow'r,
And skill'd alike to flatter and deceive,
Crept in a reptile to the ear of Eve;
So now Ambition, with a nobler mien,
Approach'd, and whisper'd thus the sleeping queen.
"Canst thou, O princess! thou, whose glory springs
From heav'n-born heroes, and a race of kings,
Resign'd and cool, to yonder Prussian yield
Silesia's sceptre and her fruitful field?
Rise to thy wrongs, assert thy injur'd reign,
And bid the sword of vengeance rage again;
Tear from his hand the empire he has won,
This moment crush him, or thou art undone.
Secret and strong, beneath his native fires,
The haughty genius of his soul aspires;
His realms enlarge, his sails begin to fly
O'er ev'ry ocean of the polar sky.
Rich harvests rise upon his barren waste,
His crowded cities are the seats of taste;
Another year's autumnal suns shall see
His broad dominions stretch from sea to sea :
Perhaps shall see him on th' imperial throne,
Europe enslav'd, and half the world his own."

Thus spoke the fiend, and, with delusive art,
Breath'd her black spirit through Teresa's heart:
Rapt into future scenes she minds no more
The faith she plighted, and the oath she swore;
Strong, and more strong, the vision lives imprest,
Conquest's dread genius takes up all her breast;
Paints on her soul, in luxury of thought,
Th' ideal glories of a war unfought,
The laurel-wreath, the military show,
The car of triumph, and the captive foe.
And now the queen, unfeeling, false, and vain,
Plans the wide ruin of a bold campaign;
Through all the north with all her spirit raves,
And wakes the nations in their huts and caves;
With wild barbarians crowds her wanton war,
The savage Croat, and the fierce hussar;
Fires the proud Saxon's sanguinary vein,
And rouses all the demon of the Seine;
Leagues kings with kings, fills Europe with alarms,
Shakes Heav'n and Earth, and sets the world in
O curst Ambition! to each vice allied,
Begot by Mischief in the womb of Pride,
What ills, dread fury! from thy genius flow!
What awful scenes of unimagin'd woe!
Before thy footsteps, wrapp'd in flames of fire,
Sinks the tall column, and majestic spire.
Close at thy side her sword fell Slaughter waves,
Midst bleeding piles, and ever-op'ning graves;
The Plague behind thee, with her tainted breath,
Sweeps through the nations on the wing of Death;
Neglected Genius in his cell expires,
To other worlds fair Liberty retires;
The patriot Muse forgets her voice divine,
Religion leaves her violated shrine;
And ev'ry meek-ey'd virtue pines and mourns,
Midst falling temples and sepulchral urns.

[arms.

The Prussian saw at one keen glance from far The gath'ring tempest and impending war: He saw, and instant bids his armies form, Meads the bold march, and bears upon the storm,

In vain the forest big with death extends,
The rampart thunders, and the flood descends;
In vain the foe each open field declines,
Hides in the trench, or lurks within his lines,
He storms the rampart, fords the rapid flood,
Leaps the broad trench, and clears th' enambush'd
Now presses on, now reigns his dread career, [wood;
Pours on the van, or steals upon the rear;
Marks ev'ry crisis, shines in ev'ry scene,
And is at once a Marlbro' and Eugene.
At length, in all the pomp of war, advance
Th' imperial eagles with the arms of France;
A mighty host, whose awful files contain
The vet'ran warriors of the Marne and Maine.
And will he yet, when nations round him close,
And his thin ranks scarce number half his foes;
Will he, ye Heav'ns! th' unequal conflict try,
And brave his fate when Glory bids him fly?
Ah! aught avails it that immortal Fame
Fill'd her fond clarion with her Fred'ric's name?
Avails it aught that Justice learnt to awe
Misguided Nature from his code of law?
That warm'd and foster'd by his genial eye,
Transplanted Science own'd the polar sky?
That Greece and Taste upon the Baltic smil'd,
And new Lyceums open'd in the wild?
Alas! one moment--the bright scene is o'er-
He falls he dies--and Prussia is no more.
Yet shall not France, in this her blissful hour,
Her dream of empire, and her pride of pow'r,
An easy, cheap, unbleeding conquest know,
Or rear her trophies o'er a flying foe:
For now the monarch, ere he gives the sign,
Serenely dreadful moves along the line:
The legions, far as each keen glance can fly,
Mark his firm step, and hang upon his eye;
That eye whose lightning terrour round him flings;
That step which seems to tread on thrones and kings.
At every look through all th' embattled van
The pulse of glory beats from man to man:
The soldier kindling at his prince aspires,
Swells with his hopes, and burns with all his fires;
Yet, midst his ardours, owns a softer flame,
And feels for Fred'ric while he feels for fame.

And now the Sun, whose orb shall set in blood,
Faints on the umbrage of the western wood;
The distant hills in each horizon fade,
And Night comes on in all her gloom and shade:
And now the trumpet's animating sound
Peals on the ear, and shakes the field around,
When, as the whirlwind tears its rapid way,
Roots up the rock, and sweeps the plain away;
Fierce on his foe th' intrepid Prussian springs,
Drives through his van, and breaks into his wings;
Wraps his whole war in one tremendous fire,
And sees the prowess of his host expire.
Th' imperial chiefs no more the shock sustain,
Their fainting battle bleeds in ev'ry vein;
France flies impetuous on the wings of Fear,
And hungry Slaughter feeds upon his rear.

Yet, stay thee, prince! all-conqueror as thou art, Indulge the milder virtues of thy heart; Restrain fierce Vengeance in her rage of ire, And let us love the monarch we admire. All that on Earth proud Co.quest gives to shine, All the dread glories of the sword are thine: The victor-wreath applauding states decree, The sacred paan only swells for thee. Another toil remains ere yet thy name Bears the full splendour of unclouded fame.

Enjoy that nobler fame-bid discord cease,
And lay pale Europe in the lap of Peace:
Then shall the Muse, who now thy triumph sings
O'er routed nations, and repenting kings,
With rapture wait thee to thy sylvan bow'r,
And watch the glories of thy softer hour,

A fairer laurel in thy own Berlin;

There fix the school of Beauty, and adorn Worlds unexplor'd, and empires yet unborn.

NOBILITY.

A MORAL ESSAY.

POKEN AT THE VISITATION OF TUNBRIDGE SCHOOL,
1752.

Tis said that ere fair Virtue learnt to sigh,
The crest to libel, and the star to lie,
The poet glow'd with all his sacred fire,
And bade each virtue live along the lyre;
Led humble Science to the blest abode,
And rais'd the hero till he shone a god.

Our modern bards, by some unhappy fate,
Condemn'd to flatter ev'ry fool of state,
Have oft, regardless of their heav'n-born flame,
Enthron'd proud Greatness in the shrine of Fame;
Bestow'd on Vice the wreaths that Virtue wove,
And paid to Nero what was due to Jove.

Yet hear, ye great! whom birth and titles crown
With alien worth, and glories not your own;
Hear me affirm, that all the vain can show,
All Anstis boasts of, and all kings bestow,
All Envy wishes, all Ambition hails,

All that supports St. James's and Versailles,
Can never give distinction to a knave,

Or make a lord whom Vice has made a slave.
In elder times, ere heralds yet unroll'd
The bleeding ruby in a field of gold,
Or infant language pain'd the tender ear
With fess, bend, argent, chev'ron, and saltier;
"Twas he alone the bay's bright verdure wore,
Whose strength subdu'd the lion or the boar;
Whose art from rocks could call the mellowing grain,
And give the vine to laugh along the plain;
Or, tracing Nature in her moral plan,
Explor'd the savage till he found the man.
For him the rustic hind, and village maid,
Stripp'd the gay spring of half its bloom and shade;
With annual dances grac'd the daisy-mead,
And sung his triumphs on the oaten reed;
Or, fond to think him sprung from yonder sky,
Rear'd the turf fane, and bade the victim die.
In Turkey, sacred as the Koran's page,
These simple manners live through ev'ry age:
The humblest swain, if virtue warms the man,
May rise the genius of the grave Divan;
And all but Othman's race, the only proud,
Fall with their sires, and mingle with the crowd.

For three campaigns Caprouli's band display'd
The Turkish crescent on thy walls, Belgrade!
Imperial Egypt own'd him for her lord,
And Austria trembled if he touch'd the sword:
Yet all his glories set thin his grave,
One son a janizary, one a slave.
Politer courts, ingenious to extend

The father's glories, bid his pomps descend;

With strange good-nature give his worthless son
The very laurels that his virtue won ;

We value Bowman only for his nose.

Say, should you see a generous steed outfly The swiftest zephyr of th' autumnal sky, Wou'd you at once his ardent wishes kill, Give him the dogs, or chain him to a mill, Because his humbler fathers, grave and slow, Clean'd half the jakes of Houndsditch or Soho? In spite of all that in his grandsire shone, An horse's worth is, like a king's, his own. If in the race, when length'ning shouts inspire His bold compeers, and set their hearts on fire, He seems regardless of th' exulting sound, And scarcely drags his legs along the ground; What will 't avail that, sprung from heav'nly seed, His great forefathers swept th' Arabian mead; Or, dress'd in balf an empire's purple, bore The weight of Xerxes on the Caspian shore?

I grant, my lord! your ancestors outshone All that e'er grac'd the Ganges or the Rhone; Born to protect, to rouse those godlike fires That Genius kindles, or fair Faine inspires; O'er humble life to spread indulgent ease, To give the veins to flow without disease; From proud Oppression injur'd Worth to screen, And shake alike the senate and the scene.

And see, to save them from the wrecks of age,
Exulting Science fills her every page,
Fame grasps her trump, the Epic Muse attends,
The lyre re-echoes, and the song ascends,
The sculptor's chissel with the pencil vies,
Rocks leap, and animated marbles rise:
All arts, all pow'rs, the virtuous chiefs adorn,
And spread their pomps to ages yet unborn.

All this we own-but if, amidst the shine,
Th' enormous blaze that beams along the line,
Some scoundrel peer, regardless of his sires,
Pursues each folly, and each vice admires ;
Shall we enrol his prostituted name
In Honour's zenith, and the lists of Fame?
Exalted titles, like a beacon, rise
To tell the wretched where protection lies.
He then who hears unmov'd Affliction's cry,
His birth's a phantom, and his name 's a lie.

The Egyptians thus on Cairo's sacred plain,
Saw half their marbles move into a fane;
The glorious work unnumber'd artists ply,
Now turn the dome, now lift it to the sky:
But when they enter'd the sublime abode,
They found a serpent where they hop'd a god.

Anstis observes, that when a thousand years
Roll through a race of princes, or of peers,
Obliging Virtue sheds her every beam
From son to son, and waits upon the stream.
Yet'say, ye great! who boast another's scars,
And think your lineage ends but in the stars,
What is this boon of Heav'n? Dependent still
On woman's weakness, and on woman's will;
Dare ye affirm that no exotic blood

Has stain'd your glories ever since the flood?
Might not some brawny slave, from Afric fled,
Stamp his base image in the nuptial bed?
Might not, in pagan days, your mothers prove
The fire of Phoebus, and the strength of Jove?

Or, more politely to their vows untrue,
Love, and elope, as modern ladies do?
But grant that all your gentle grandames shone
Clear, and unsullied as the noon-day Sun;
Though Nature form'd them of her chastest mould,
Say, was their birth illustrious as their gold?
Full many a lord, we know, has chose to range
Among the wealthy beauties of the 'Change;
Or sigh'd, still humbler, to the midnight gale
For some fair peasant of th' Arcadian vale.
Then blame us not, if backward to adore
A name pollnted by a slave or whore;
Siuce spite of patents, and of king's decrees,
And blooming coronets on parchment-trees,
Some alien stain may darken all the line,
And Norfolk's blood descend as mean as mine.
You boast, my lord! a race with laurels crown'd,
By senates honour'd, and in war renown'd;
Show then the martial soul to danger bred,
When Poitiers thunder'd, and when Cressy bled;
Show us those deeds, those heav'n-directed fires,
That ages past saw beaming on your sires;
That freeborn Pride no tyrant durst enslave,
That godlike Zeal that only liv'd to save.

Dare you, though Faction bawl through all her tribe,

Though monarchs threaten, and though statesmen bribe,

Feel for mankind, and gallantly approve
All Virtue teaches, and all angels love?
Know you the tear that flows o'er worth distrest,
The joy that rises when a people's blest?
Then, if you please, immortalize your line,
With all that's great, heroic, and divine;
Explore with curious eye th' historic page,
The rolls of fame, the monuments of age;
Adopt each chief immortal Homer sings,
All Greece's heroes, and all Asia's kings:
If Earth's too scanty, search the blest abode,
And make your first progenitor a god:

We grant your claim, whate'er you wish to prove,
The son of Priam, or the son of Jove.

Statesmen and patriots thus to glory rise,
The self-born Sun that gilds them never dies:
While he ennobled by those gewgaw things,
The pride of patents, and the breath of kings,
Glares the pale meteor of a little hour,
Fed by court sunshine, and poetic show'r;
Then sinks at once, unpitied, and unblest,
A nation's scandal, and a nation's jest.

Nobility had something in her blood,
When to be great was only to be good:
Sublime she sat in Virtue's sacred fane,
With all the sister graces in her train.
She still exists, 'tis true, in Grosvenor Square,
And leads a life, a kind of-as it were--
And see! self-shelter'd from the world's alarms,
The dying goddess sleeps in Fortune's arms;
Fond Luxury attends her soft retreats,
The modest Frazi warbles while she eats;
Arabia's sweets distil at ev'ry pore,

Her flatt'rers soothe her, and her slaves adore;
Indulg'd by all our senates to forget,
Those worst of plagues, a promise and a debt.
Not but there are, amidst the titled crew,
Unknown to all but Collins and the stew,
Men who improve their heav'n-descended fires,
Rise on their blood, and beam upon their sires;
Men who, like diamonds from Golconda's mine,
Call from themselves the ray that makes them shine.

Pleas'd let me view a Cecil's soul array'd
With all that Plato gather'd in the shade;
Reflect how nobly Radnor can descend
To lose his title in the name of friend;
At Dorset look, and bid Hibernia own
Her viceroy form'd to sit upon a throne;
Admire how innocence can lend to truth
Each grace of virtue, and each charm of youth,
And then enraptur'd bend the suppliant knee
To Heav'n's high throne, O Rockingham! for thee.
Let then vain fools their proud escutcheons view,
Allied to half the Yneas of Peru;

With every vice those lineal glories stain
That rose in Pharamond, or Charlemagne :
But ye, dear youths! whom chance or genius calls
To court pale Wisdom in these hallow'd walls,
Scorn ye to hang upon a blasted name
Another's virtue, and another's fame:
In two short precepts all your business lies→→
Wou'd you be great?-Be virtuous, and be wise.

THE

TEMPLE OF HYMEN

A TALE.

SPOKEN AT THE anniversary, 1760.

IN elder time when men were chaste,
And women had not got a taste,
It was ordain'd, to ease their cares,
The sexes should be link'd in pairs,
And pass the various scenes of life
Known by the names of man and wife.

To aid this scheme, so just and wise,
The male had vigour, strength, and size:
Undaunted, active, bold, and brave,
And fearless or of wind or wave,
He scal'd the cliff's enormous steep,
He plung'd into the pathless deep,
And dar'd in open war engage
The lion's sanguinary rage.

Woman, as form'd to charm and please, Had more of elegance and ease;

A finer shape, a softer mien,

A heart more gentle and serene.

Her smile was sunshine-in her face
Sat Sweetness on the throne of Grace:
The accents melted from her tongue
In all the harmony of song;
And every glance that left her eye
Was milder than a vernal sky.

As Nature now had done her best,
She left to accident the rest.
"To accident!"-you cry-Why, yes.
Yet think not that she acts by guess.
Events may baffle man's endeavour,
But Nature is extremely clever,
And works with so exact a care,
She ne'er miscarries in a hair.
For now, when on a festal day
The sexes met, alert and gay,
And, in their pastimes, sports, and dances,
Had interchang'd some tender glances,
Th' impassion'd heart began to own
A set of instincts yet unknown;
To throb with momentary fires,
And melt away in young desires.

In short, the men began to bow,
To soothe, to ogle, whine, and vow;
To haunt the solitary shade,
And whisper to the village maid.
The village maid, who knew not yet
The breeding of a sly coquette;
And could not, with an artful sigh,
Like modern ladies, smile and lie;
Indulgent heard her lover's flame,
Frankly confest she felt the same,
And ere the rosy-finger'd Morn
Dried up the pearls upon the thorn,
Went with him, midst her virgin train,
In flow'rets drest, to Hymen's fane.

This mild divinity, so sung
By half the poets old and young,
The patron of connubial truth,
Was now in all the bloom of youth.
Roses fresh gather'd from the bush,
Sweet emblems of the female blush,
Wove in a wreath supremely fair,
Sat graceful on his auburn hair:
One hand sustain'd a torch on fire,
Significant of soft desire;
The other held in mystic show
A broider'd veil of saffron hue:
Majestic flow'd his azure vest,
And rubies bled upon his breast.

The meek-ey'd god an age or so
Succeeded, and had much to do;
In crowds his eager vot'ries came,
His altars never ceas'd to flame:
Besides an off'ring, frank and free,
First paid him as the marriage fee,
Some pretty toys of shells and corals,
With sprigs of ever-blooming laurels,
And bowls of consecrated wine,
Were yearly plac'd upon his shrine,
The gifts of many a grateful pair
Made happy by his guardian care.

It chanc'd three demons, fiends, or witches, Ambition, Vanity, and Riches,

Walk'd out one evening bright and fair,
To breathe a little country air;
And, as old Nick would have it, found
This soul-enchanting spot of ground,
Where happy husbands, happy wives,
Enjoy'd the most delicious lives;
And resolv'd to buy, or hire,
A vacant cottage of the 'squire.

They came, they settled; sooth'd, carest, Politely treated every guest,

And, with a world of pains and labours,
Lectur'd their simple-minded neighbours.
"My worthy friends!" says Wealth,
The splendour of almighty gold!

behold

These guineas here, these brilliant things,
Which bear the images of kings,

Within their little orbs contain
Fair Pleasure's ever-smiling train,
And can to ev'ry swain dispense
Wit, spirit, virtue, taste, and sense.
Who but a fool wou'd wed a Phillis,
Whose only portion is her lilies?
For ever doom'd, in life's low shade,
To ply the mercenary spade,

Till some disease, whose nature such is
To set us on a pair of crutches,
Force you to plunder, beg, or steal
From Charity an humble meal;

And send your age, for want of vittle,
To a poor alms-house, or the spittle.
Be wise, and, when you mean to wed,
Scorn the fair forms of white and red;
And court the nymph whose genial charms,
Rich as the fruits upon her farms,
Will pour upon your daily toil
Abundant floods of wine and oil."

He said-Ambition then began
About the dignity of man;

He rallied all their groves and springs,
And finely talk'd of queens and kings:
It was, he thought, a want of grace
To mingle with the vulgar race;
For souls made up of heav'nly fire
Are form'd by Nature to aspire.
He told them that a well-born wife
Ennobled every joy of life,
Without a patent gave her dear
Th' importance of a British peer;
Perhaps might to a prince ally him,
And make him cousin to old Priam.

While thus the fiends, with wily art,
Adroitly stole upon the heart,
And with their complaisauce, and tales,
Had ruin'd more than half the males,
Gay Vanity, with smiles and kisses,
Was busy mongst the maids and misses.

My dears!" says she, "those pretty faces.
Speak you the sisters of the Graces:
Immortal Venus wou'd be vain

To have you in her court and train.
But sure, methinks, it something odd is,
That beauties who can match a goddess
Shou'd give their more than mortal charms
To a dull rustic's joyless arms,

A mere unanimated clod,
As much a lover as a god.

O let those eyes, which far outshine
The brightest sapphires of the mine,
Their precious orbs no longer roll
On fellows without wealth or soul:
But fly, my charmers! fly the wretches,
Dame Nature's first mis-shapen sketches,
Fly to the world where lords and 'squires
Are warm'd with more ethereal fires;
Where pleasure each gay moment wings,
Where the divine Mingotti sings:
So shall each all-commanding fair
Have her two pages, and a chair,
Fine Indian tissues, Mechlin laces,
Rich essences in China vases,
And rise on life's exalted scene
With all the splendour of a queen."

She spoke, and in a trice possest
The empire of the female breast:
And now the visionary maids

Disdain'd their shepherds and their shades;
In every dream with rapture saw
Three footmen, and a gilt landau;
Assum'd a fine majestic air,

And learnt to ogle, swim, and stare.
No longer beam'd the modest eye,
No longer heav'd the melting sigh.
Neglected Love, whose blunted dart
Scarce once a year could wound a heart,
Hung up his quiver on a yew,

And, sighing, from the world withdrew
However, as the wheel of life
Subsisted still in man and wife,

Th' aforesaid fiends, for reasons good,
Coupled the sexes as they cou'd.
For instance-Women made for thrones
Were match'd with ideots, sots, and drones;
And wits were every day disgrac'd
By honeys without sense or taste:
Gay libertines of sixty-five,

With scarce a single limb alive,

Had young coquettes just in their teens,
As wanton as Circassia's queens;

And youths, whose years were scarce a score,
Were pair'd with nymphs of sixty-four.
Matters, in short, were so contriv'd,
The men were most divinely wiv'd;
The women too, to grace their houses,
Were blest with most accomplish'd spouses.
In two short months, perhaps in one,
Both sexes found themselves undone,
And came in crowds, with each an halter,
To hang poor Hymen on his altar.
The god, though arm'd but with his torch,
Intrepid met them in the porch;
And, while they hector, brawl, and bully,
Harangu'd them with the ease of Tully.

"Good folks!" says he, "it gives me pain
To hear you murmur and complain,
When every barber in the town
Knows that the fault is all your own.
Seduc'd by show, misled by wealth,
Regardless of your peace and health,
Panting for feather, whims, and fashions,
You left plain Nature's genuine passions,
And gave up all your real joys,
As Indians sell their gold for toys.
You, madam! who was pleas'd to fix
Your wishes on a coach and six,
Obtain'd your end, and now you find
Your husband ought to ride behind;
You might have had, without offence,
A man of spirit, soul, and sense,
Wou'd you have stoop'd to take the air
In a plain chariot and pair.
You too, my venerable sage!
Had you reflected on your age,
Wou'd scarce have took, to be undone,
A sprightly girl of twenty-one.
Your ladyship disdain'd to hear
Of any husband but a peer;

Was pleas'd your angel-form to barter
For a blue ribbon and a garter:
And now, magnificently great,
You feel the wretchedness of state;
Neglected, injur'd, spurn'd, and poor,
The victim of an opera whore.
Your neighbour there, the wealthy cit,
Like you is miserably bit:

Too proud to drag the nuptial chain
With the grave nymphs of Foster-lane,
He married, such his fatal aim was,
A lady Charlotte, from St. James's;
And now supports, by scores, and dozens,
His very honourable cousins,

And entertains, with wine and cards,
Half the gay colonels of the guards.
Away, ye triflers! bear, endure
Afflictions which ye cannot cure;
At least with decency conceal
The pangs your follies make you feel,
In hopes that some obliging fever
Will ease you of your dears for ever."

The crowd dismiss'd-the god began
To muse upon a better plan:

He saw that things grew worse and worse,
That marriage was become a curse;
And therefore thought it just and wise was
To rectify this fatal bias,

And in a tasteless world excite

Duc rev'rence for his holy rite.

Full of his scheme he went one day

To a lone cottage in a shaw,

Where dwelt a nymph of strong and shrewd sense,

Known by the name of Gammer Prudence,
Whom Hymen, with a bow and buss,
Address'd most eloquently thus.

"Goody! I've order'd Love to go
This evening to the world below;
He travels in a coach and sparrows,
With a new set of bows and arrows:
But yet the rogue's so much a child,
So very whimsical, and wild,

His head has such strange fancies in it,
I cannot trust him half a minute.
Were I to let the little wanton
Rove as he lists through every canton,
Without a check, without a rein,
The world would be undone again-
We soon shou'd see the lawns and groves
Quite fill'd with zephyrs, sighs, and doves,
With am'rous ditties, fairy dances,
Such as we read of in romances;
Where princes haunt the lonely rocks,
And dutchesses are feeding flocks.
Go then, my venerable dame!
And qualify his idle flame;
Instruct those hearts his arrows hit,
To pause, and have a little wit:
Bid them reflect, amidst their heat,
'Tis necessary Love should eat;
That in his most ecstatic billing
He possibly may want a shilling.
Persuade them, ere they first engage,
To study temper, rank, and age,
To march beneath my holy banners,
Congenial in their tastes and manners,
Completing just as Heav'n design'd,
An union both of sex and mind."

He said he press'd-the matron maid,
Benevolent of heart, obey'd;
Forsook her solitary grove,
And, waiting in the train of Love,
Watch'd with the sober eye of Truth
The workings of misguided youth:
And when the heart began to sigh,
To melt, to heave, to bleed, to die,
She whisper'd many a wise remark
With all the dignity of Clark-

She hop'd the ladies, in their choice,
Would listen to her awful voice:
She begg'd the men, while yet their lives
Were free from fevers, plagues, and wives,
Ere yet the chariot was bespoke,
To pause before they took the yoke.—
In short, when Cupid's lucky darts
Had pierc'd a pair of kindred hearts,
And Goody Prudence lik'd the houses,
Estates, and minds, of both the spouses,
And found, exact to form and law,
The settlement without a flaw,
She frankly gave them leave to wed,
And sanctified the nuptial bed.