A wife so suited to his taste,
So fair, so gentle, and so chaste,
A tender partner for his bed,
A pillow for his aching head,
The bosom good for which he panted,
In short the very thing he wanted.
"And then to make my bliss complete,
And lay fresh laurels at my feet,
How many matches did she slight;
An Irish lord, a city knight,
And squires by dozens, yet agree
To pass her life with humble me.
And did not she the other day

When captain Wilkins pass'd our way-
The captain!-well, she lik'd not him,
Though drest in all his Hyde-park trim.
-She lik'd his sword-knot though 'twas yellow;
The captain is a sprightly fellow,
I should not often choose to see
Such dangerous visitors as he.
I wonder how he came to call-
Or why he pass'd that way at all.
His road lay farther to the right,
And me he hardly knew by sight.
Stay, let me think-I freeze, I burn-
Where'er he went, he must return,
And, in my absence, may again
Make bold to call.-Come hither, Ben;
Did you observe, I'll lay my life
You did, when first he met my wife,
What speech it was the captain made?"
"What, captain Wilkins, sir?”—“ The same.
Come, you can tell."-" I can't indeed,
For they were kissing when I came."
"Kiss, did they kiss?"-" Most surely, sir;
A bride, and he a bachelor."

"Peace, rascal, 'tis beyond endurance,
I wonder at some folks assurance.
They think, like Ranger in the play,
That all they meet is lawful prey.
These huff bluff captains are of late
Grown quite a nuisance in the state.-
Ben, turn your horse-nay, never stare,
And tell my wife I cannot bear

These frequent visits. Hence, you dunce!"
"The captain, sir, was there but once,"
"Once is too often; tell her, Ben,

That, if he dares to call again,

She should avoid him like a toad,

A snake, a viper.-There's your road.
-And hark'ee, tell her, under favour,
We stretch too far polite behaviour.
Tell her, I do not understand

This kissing; tell her I command”—
"Heav'n bless us, sir, such whims as these❞—
"Tell her I beg it on my knees,
By all the love she ever show'd,
By all she at the altar vow'd,
Howe'er absurd a husband's fears,
Howe'er injurious it appears,
She would not see him if he comes;
Nay, if she chance to hear his drums,
Bid her start back, and skulk for fear,
As if the thunder rent her ear,"

O wond'rous power of love and beauty!
Obedience is a servant's duty,
And Ben obeys. But, as he goes,
He reasons much on human woes.
How frail is man, how prone to stray
And all the long et calera

Of sayings, which, in former ages,
Immortaliz'd the Grecian sages,
But now the very vulgar speak,
And only critics quote in Greek.

With these, like Sancho, was he stor❜d,
And Sancho-like drew forth his hoard.
Proper or not, he all apply'd,
And view'd the case on every side,
Till, on the whole, he thought it best
To turn the matter to a jest,
And, with a kind of clumsy wit,
At last on an expedient hit.

Suppose we then the journey o'er,
And madam meets him at the door.
"So soon return'd? and where's your master?
I hope you 've met with no disaster.
Is my dear well?"-" Extremely so;
And only sent me here to know
How fares his softer, better part.
Ah, madam, could you see his heart!
It was not even in his power

To brook the absence of an hour.".
"And, was this all? was this the whole
He sent you for! The kind, good, soul'
Tell him, that he's my source of bliss;
Tell him my health depends on his;
Tell him, this breast no joy can find,
If cares disturb his dearer mind;
This faithful breast, if he be well,
No pang, but that of absence, feel."
Ben blush'd, and smil'd, and scratch'd his head,
Then, falt'ring in his accents, said,
"One message more, he bade me bear,
But that's a secret for your ear-
My master begs, on no account
Your ladyship would dare to mount

The mastiff dog."-" What means the lad?
Are you, or is your master mad?

I ride a dog? a pretty story."

"Ah, dearest madam, do not glory

In your own strength; temptation's strong,
And frail our nature."-" Hold your tongue,
Your master, sir, shall know of this."
"Dear madam, do not take amiss
Your servant's zeal; by all you vow'd,
By all the love you ever show'd,
By all your hopes of bliss to come,
Beware the mastiff dog!"-" Be dumb,
Insulting wretch," the lady cries.
The servant takes his cue, and flies.
While consternation marks her face,
He mounts his steed, and quits the place,
In vain she calls, as swift as wind
He scowers the lawn, yet cast behind
One parting look, which seem'd to say
"Beware the dog ;" then rode away.

Why should I paint the hurrying scene
Of clashing thoughts which pass'd within,
Where doubt on doubt incessant roll'd.
Enough for me the secret's told,
And madam in a strange quandary,

What 'is to be done?" John, Betty, Harry,
Go, call him back." He's out of sight,
No speed can overtake his flight.
Patience per force alone remains,
Precarious cure for real pains!

"I ride a dog! a strange conceit,
And never sure attempted yet.
What can it mean? Whate'er it was,
There is some mystery in the case.→

And really, now I've thought a minute,
There may be no great matter in it.
Ladies of old, to try a change,
Have rode on animals as strange.
Helle a ram, a bull Europa;

Nay English widows, for a faux pas,
Were doom'd to expiate their shame,
As authors say, upon a ram.

And shan't my virtue take a pride in
Outdoing such vile trulls in riding?
And sure a ram's as weak a creature-
Here, Betty, reach me the Spectator."-
"Lord bless me, ma'am, as one may say,
Your ladyship's quite mop'd to day.
Reading will only, I'm afraid,

Put more strange megrims in your head.
'Twere better sure to take the air;
I'll order, ma'am, the coach and pair,
And then too I may go beside.
Or, if you rather choose to ride"-
"Ride, Betty? that's my wish, my aim.
Pray, Betty, is our Cæsar tame?"
"Tame, madam? Yes. I never heard-
You mean the mastiff in the yard?
He makes a noise, and barks at folks-
But surely, ma'am, your la'ship jokes."
"Jokes, Betty, no.
By earth and Heaven
This insult shall not be forgiven.
Whate'er they mean, I'll ride the dog.
Go, prithee, free him from his clog,
And bring him hither; they shall find
There's courage in a female mind."

So said, so done. The dog appears
With Betty chirping on the stairs.
The floating sack is thrown aside,
The vestments, proper for a ride,
Such as we oft in Hyde-park view
Of fustian white lapell'd with blue,
By Betty's care were on the spot,
Nor is the feather'd hat forgot.
Pleas'd with herself th' accoutred lass
Took half a turn before her glass,
And simp'ring said, "I swear and vow,
I look like captain Wilkins now.''
But serious cares our thoughts demand,
"Poor Cæsar, stroke him with your hand;
How mild he seems, and wags his tail!
'Tis now the moment to prevail."
She spake, and straight with eye sedate
Began th' important work of fate.
A cushion on his back she plac'd,

And bound with ribbands round his waist:
The knot, which whilom grac'd her head,
And down her winding lappets spread,
From all its soft meanders freed,
Became a bridle for her steed.

And now she mounts. "Dear Dian, hear!
Bright goddess of the lunar sphere!
Thou that hast oft preserv'd from fate
The nymph who leaps a five-barr'd gate,
O take me, goddess, to thy care,
O hear a tender lady's prayer!
Thy vot'ress once, as pure a maid
As ever rov'd the Delian shade,
Though now, by man's seduction won,
She wears, alas, a looser zone."

In vain she pray'd. She mounts, she falls!
And Cæsar barks, and Betty squawls.
The marble hearth receives below

The headlong dame, a direful blow!

And starting veins with blood disgrace
The softer marble of her face.

Here might I sing of fading charms
Reclin❜d on Betty's faithful neck,
Like Venus in Dione's arms,

And much from Homer might I speak,
But we refer to Pope's translation,
And hasten to our plain narration.
While broths and plaisters are prepar'd,
And doctors feed, and madam scar'd,
At length returns th' impatient squire
Eager and panting with desire.
But finds his home a desert place,
No spouse to welcome his embrace,
No tender sharer of his bliss
To chide his absence with a kiss.
Sullen in bed the lady lay,
And muffled from the eye of day,
Nor deign'd a look, averse and sad
As Dido in th' Elysian shade.

Amaz'd, alarm'd, the bed he press'd, And clasp'd her struggling to his breast. "My life, my soul, I cannot brook This cruel, this averted look. And is it thus at last we meet ?" Then rais'd her gently from the sheet. "What mean," he cries, "these bleeding stains This muffled head, and bursting veins ? What sacrilegious hand could dare To fix its impious vengeance there?" "The dog, the dog!" was all she said, And sobbing sunk again in bed. "The dog, the dog!" express'd her grief, Like poor Othello's handkerchief.

Meanwhile had Ben with prudent care
From Betty learnt the whole affair,
And drew th' impatient squire aside,
To own the cheat he could not hide.
"See, rascal, see," enrag'd he cries,
"What tumours on her forehead rise!
How swells with grief that face divine!"
"I own it all, the fault was mine,"
Replies the lad, "dear angry lord;
But hush! come hither, not a word!
Small are the ills we now endure,
Those tumours, sir, admit a cure.
But, had I done as you directed,
Whose forehead then had been affected?
Had captain Wilkins been forbidden,
Ah master, who had then been ridden ?"

AN EPISTLE

FROM A GROVE IN DERBYRHIRE TO A GROVE IN SURREY.

SINCE every naturalist agrees

That groves are nothing else but trees,
And root-bound trees, like distant creatures,
Can only correspond by letters,

Borne on the winds which through us whistle,
Accept, dear sister, this epistle.

And first, as to their town relations
The ladies send to know the fashions,
Would I, in something better spelling,
Inquire how things go on at Haling;
For here, for all my master's storming,
I'm sure we strangely want reforming,
Long have my lab'ring trees confin'd
Such griefs as almost burst their rind;

But you 'Il permit me to disclose 'em,
And lodge them in your leafy bosom.

When gods came down the woods among,
As sweetly chants poetic song,
And fauns and sylvans sporting there
Attun'd the reed, or chas'd the fair,
My quiv'ring branches lightly fann'd
The movements of the master's hand;
Or half conceal'd, and half betray'd,
The blushing, flying, yielding maid;
Did even the bliss of Heav'n improve,
And solac'd gods with earthly love!

But now the world is grown so chaste,
Or else my master has no taste,
That, I'll be sworn, the live-long year
We scarcely see a woman here.
And what, alas, are woodland quires
To those who want your fierce desires?
Can philosophic bosoms know
Why myrtles spring, or roses blow,
Why cowslips lift the velvet head,

Or woodbines form the fragrant shade?
Even violet couches only swell
To gratify his sight and smell;
And Milton's universal Pan
Scarce makes him fecl himself a man.

And then he talks your dull morality
Like some old heathen man of quality,
(Plato, or what's his name who fled
So nobly at his army's head,)
For Christian lords have better breeding
Than by their talk to show their reading;
And what their sentiment in fact is,

That you may gather from their practice.
Though really, if it were no worse,
We might excuse this vain discourse;
Toss high our heads above his voice,
Or stop the babbling echo's noise;
But he, I tell you, has such freaks,
He thinks and acts whate'er he speaks.

Or, if he needs must preach and reason,
Why let him choose a proper season;
Such musty morals we might hear
When whistling winds have stript us bare,
As, after sixty, pious folks

Will on wet Sundays read good books.
And I must own, dear sister Haling,
'Tis mine, like many a lady's failing,
(Whom worried spouse to town conveys
From ease, and exercise, and air,
To sleepless nights, and raking days,
And joys-too exquisite to bear)
To feel December's piercing harms,
And every winter lose my charms.
While you still flourish fresh and fair
Like your young ladies all the year.
O happy groves, who never feel
The stroke of winter, or of steel;
Nor find, but in the poet's lay,
The race of leaves like men decay.
Nor hear th' imperious woodman's call,
Nor see your sylvan daughters fall,
With head declin'd attend their moan,
And echo to the dying groan.

While I, attack'd by foes to rest,
New vistas opening through my breast,

Am daily torn with wounds and flashes,
And see my oaks, my elms, my ashes,
With rhiming labels round them set,
As every tree were to be let.
And, when one pants for consolation,
Am put in mind of contemplation.
O friend, instruct me to endure
These mighty ills, or hint a cure.
Say, might not marriage, well apply'd,
Improve his taste, correct his pride,
Inform him books but make folks muddy,
Confine his morals to his study,
Teach him, like other mortals, here
To toy and prattle with his dear;
Avert that fate my fear foresees,
And, for his children, save his trees?
Right trusty Wood, if you approve
The remedy express'd above,
Write by the next fair wind that blows,
And kindly recommend a spouse.

THE ANSWER.

DEAR Grove, I ask ten thousand pardons,
Sure I'm the most absurd of gardens !
Such correspondence to neglect-
Lord, how must all grove-kind reflect!
Your human loiterers, they say,
Can put ye off from day to day
With post gone out-the careless maid
Forgot the letter was mislaid-
And twenty phrases wrought with art
To hide the coldness of the heart.
But vegetables from their youth
Were always taught to speak the truth,
In Dodonn's vales, on Mona's mountains,
In Jotham's fables, or in Fontaine's,
They talk like any judge or bishop,
Quite from the cedar down to hyssop.
I therefore for my past offence
May own, with sylvan innocence,
I've nought but negligence to plead;
Which you 'll excuse, and I'll proceed.

You groves who stand remote from towns
(Though we are apt to call ye clowns)
Have really something in your natures
Which makes ye most diverting creatures.
And then, I vow, I like to see
That primitive simplicity;
To think of marriage as a means

T" improve his taste, and save your greens→→
It looks so like that good old grove
Where Adam ouce to Eve made love,
That any soul alive would swear
Your trees were educated there.

Why, child, the only hope thou hast
Lies in thy master's want of taste;
For shou'd his liug'ring stay in London
Improve his taste, you must be undone ;
Your trees would presently lie flat,
And the high mode of one green plat
Run through his worship's whole estate.
Besides, you rustics fill your fancies
With Ovid, and his strange romances.
Why now you think, in days like ours,

and evergreens.

2 Homer.

And goddesses, as just rewards

For hymns of praise, grow fond of bards,

And fly to over-arching woods

And flowery banks, and crystal floods,
Because such things, forsooth were wanted
When your great grandmothers were planted.
The case, my dear, is alter'd quite,
Not that we 're chaste, but more polite;
Your shepherdesses sought such places,
Like simple girls to hide their faces;

But our bright maids disdain the thought,
They know hypocrisy's a fault,
And never bear by their consent
The shame of seeming innocent.

But I forget, you 've just got down
A mistress, as you wish'd, from town.
I don't know what you 'll say at Romely,
We really think the woman comely;
Has some good qualities beside,
They say, but she 's as yet a bride;
One can't trust every report—
Not we I mean who live near court;
A lie perhaps in Derbyshire
May be as strange as truth is here.
Our ladies, and all their relations,
Are vastly full of commendations;
As for Miss's part, she swears,
-I ask her pardon-she avers
That never in her life time yet
She saw a woman more complete;
And wishes trees could tramp the plain,
Like Birnham wood to Dunsinane,
So might or you or I remove,
And Romely join to Haling grove.

O could her wish but alter fate
And kindly place us téte à tête,
How sweetly might from every walk
My echoes to your echoes talk!
But since, as justly you observe,
By Nature's laws, which never swerve,
We 're bound from gadding, tree by tree,
Both us and our posterity,

Let each, content with her own county,
E'en make the best of Nature's bounty.
Calmly enjoy the present bliss,
Nor in what might be lose what is.

Believe me, dear, beyond expressing
We 're happy, if we knew the blessing,
Our masters, all the world allow,
Are honest men as times go now;
They neither wench, nor drink, nor game,
Nor burn with zeal or party flame,
From whence, excepting adverse fates,
We may conclude that their estates
Will probably increase, and we
Shall stand another century.

Then never mind a tree or two
Cut down perhaps to ope a view,
Nor be of nail'd up verse asham'd,
You'll live to see the poet damn'd.
I envy not, I swear and vow,
The temples, or the shades of Stow;
Nor Java's groves, whose arms display
Their blossoms to the rising day;

Nor Chili's woods, whose fruitage gleams
Ruddy beneath his setting beams;
Nor Teneriffa's forests shaggy;
Nor China's varying Sharawaggi;
Nor all that has been sung or said
Of Pindus, or of Windsor shade.

Contentment is the chemic power
Which makes trees bloom in half an hour,

When lo! a voice! a voice I hear! 'Twas reason whisper'd in my ear

These monitory strains:

The idiot wonder they express'd
Was praise and transport to his breast.

At length, quite vain, he needs would shew

The ties which constitute thy kind,

The pleasures and the pains?

"The same Almighty Power unseen,
Who spreads the gay or solemn scene
To contemplation's eye,
Fix'd every movement of the soul,
Taught every wish its destin'd goal,
And quicken'd every joy.

"He bids the tyrant passions rage,
He bids them war eternal wage,
And combat each his foe:
Till from dissentions concords rise,
And beauties from deformities,
And happiness from woe.

"Art thou not man? and dar'st thou find
A bliss which leans not to mankind?

Presumptuous thought, and vain! Each bliss unshar'd is unenjoy'd, Each power is weak, unless employ'd Some social go! to gain.

"Shall light, and shade, and warmth, and air, With those exalted joys compare

Which active virtue feels,

When on she drags, as lawful prize,
Contempt, and indolence, and vice,
At her triumphant wheels.

"As rest to labour still succeeds,
To man, while virtue's glorious deeds
Employ his toilsome day,
This fair variety of things
Are merely life's refreshing springs
To soothe him on his way.

"Enthusiast, go, unstring the lyre;
In vain thou sing'st, if none admire,
How sweet soe'er the strain.
And is not thy o'erflowing mind,
Unless thou mixest with thy kind,
Benevolent in vain ?

"Enthusiast, go; try every sense: If not thy bliss, thy excellence

Thou yet hast learn'd to scan.

At least thy wants, thy weakness know; And see them all uniting show

That man was made for man."

THE YOUTH AND THE PHILOSOPHER.

A FABLE.

A GRECIAN Youth, of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care
Had form'd for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,

Would often boast his matchless skill,
To curb the steed, and guide the wheel,
And as he pass'd the gazing throng,
With graceful ease, and smack'd the thong,

And bade his slaves the chariot lead

To Academus' sacred shade.

The trembling grove confess'd its fright,
The Wood-nymphs startled at the sight,
The Muses drop the learned lyre,
And to their inmost shades retire!

Howe'er, the youth with forward air
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car.
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring,
And gath'ring crowds, with eager eyes,
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.

Triumphant to the goal return'd,
With nobler thirst his bosom burn'd;
And now along th' indented plain,
The self-same track he marks again;
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd; The youths with emulation glow'd, Evin bearded sages hail'd the boy, And all, but Plato, gaz'd with joy. For he, deep-judging sage, beheld With pain the triumphs of the field; And when the charioteer drew nigh, And, flush'd with hope, had caught his eye: "Alas! unhappy youth," he cry'd,

Expect no praise from me;" (and sigh'd) "With indignation I survey

Such skill and judgment thrown away.
The time profusely squander'd there
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employ'd, at less expense,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense,
And rais'd thee from a coachman's fate
To govern men, and guide the state."