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In wedlock when the sexes meet, Friendship is only then complete. “ Blest state! where souls each other draw, Where love is liberty and law!" The choicest blessing found below, That man can wislı, or heaven bestow! Trust me, these raptures are divine, For lovely Chloe once was mine! Nor fear the varnish of my style, Though poet, I'm estrang'd to guile. Ah me! my faithful lips impart The genuine language of my heart!

When bards extol their patrons high, Perhaps ’tis gold extorts the lie; Perhaps the poor reward of breadBut who burns incense to the dead? He, whom a fond affection draws, Careless of censure or applause ; Whose soul is upright and sincere, With nought to wish, and nought to fear.

Now to my visionary scheme,
Attend and profit by my Dream.

Amidst the slumbers of the night,
A stately temple rose to sight;
And ancient as the human race,
If Nature's purposes you trace.
This fane, by all the wise rever'd,
To Wedlock's pow'rful god was rear'd.

Hard by I saw a graceful sage,
His locks were frosted o'er by age;
His garb was plain, his mind screne,
And wisdom dignify'd his mien.
With curious search his name I sought,
And found 'twas Hymen's fav’rite — Thought.

Apace the giddy crowds advance,
And a lewd satyr led the dance:
I griev'd to see whole thousands run,
For oh! what thousands are undone!
The sage, when these mad troops he spy'd,
In pity flew to join their side:
The discontented pairs began
To rail against him, to a man;
Vowid they were strangers to his name,
Nor knew from whence the dotard camc.

But mark the sequel — for this truth
Highly concerns impetuous youth:
Long ere the honey-moon could wane,
Perdition seiz'd on ev'ry twain;
At every house, and all day long,
Repentance ply'd her scorpion thong;
Disgust was there with frowning mien,
And every wayward child of spleen.

Hymen approach'd his awful fane,
Attended by a vum'rous train :
Love, with each soft and nameless grace,
Was first in favour and in place:

Then came the god with solemn gait,
Whose ev'ry word was big with fate;
His hand a flaming taper bore,
That sacred symbol, fam'd of yore:
Virtue, adorn'd with every charm,
Sustain’d the god's incumbent arm:
Beauty improv'd the glowing scene
With all the roses of eighteen:
Youth led the gaily smiling fair,
His purple pinions wav'd in air :
Wealth, a close bunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With vulture-claw, and eagle-eye,
Who three-score years had seen, or more,
('Tis said his coat had seen a score);
Proud was the wretch, though clad in rags,
Presuming much opon his bags.

A female next her arts display'd,
Poets alone can paint the maid:
Trust me, Hogarth, (though great thy fame)
'Twould pose thy skill to draw the same;
And yet thy mimic pow'r is more
Than ever painter's was before:
Now, she was fair as cygnet's down;
Now, as Matt Prior's Emma brown;
And changing as the changing flow'r,
Her dress she varied every hour :
'Twas Fancy, child !-You know the fair,
Who pins your gown, and sets your hair

M

Hard by I saw a graceful sage,
His locks were frosted o'er by age;
His garb was plain, his mind serene,
And wisdom dignify'd his mien.
With curious search his name I sought,
And found 'twas Hymen's fav’rite — Thought.

Apace the giddy crowds advance,
And a lewd satyr led the dance:
I griev'd to see whole thousands run,
For oh! what thousands are undone!
The sage, when these mad troops he spy'd,
In pity flew to join their side:
The discontented pairs began
To rail against him, to a man;
Vow:d they were strangers to his name,
Nor knew from whence the dotard came.

But mark the sequel — for this truth
Highly concerns impetuous youth:
Long ere the honey-moon could wane,
Perdition seiz'd on ev'ry twain;
At every house, and all day long,
Repentance ply'd her scorpion thong;
Disgust was there with frowning mien,
And every wayward child of spleen.

Hymen approach'd his awful fane,
Attended by a pum'rous train :
Love, with each soft and nameless grace,
Was first in favour and in place:

Then came the god with solemn gait,
Whose ev'ry word was big with fate;
His hand a flaming taper bore,
That sacred symbol, fam'd of yore:
Virtue, adorn'd with every charm,
Sustain'd the god's incumbent arm:
Beauty improv'd the glowing scene
With all the roses of eighteen:
Youth led the gaily smiling fair,
His purple pinions wav'd in air :
Wealth, a close hunks, walk'd hobbling nigh,
With vulture-claw, and eagle-eye,
Who three-score years had seen, or more,
('Tis said his coat had seen a score);
Proud was the wretch, though clad in rags,
Presuming much npon his bags.

A female next her arts display'd,
Poets alone can paint the maid:
Trust me, Hogarth, (though great thy fame)
'Twould pose thy skill to draw the same;
And yet thy mimic pow'r is more
Than ever painter's was before:
Now, she was fair as cygnet's down;
Now, as Matt Prior's Emma brown;
And changing as the changing flow'r,
Her dress she varied every hour :
'Twas Fancy, child !--You know the fair,
Who pins your gown, and sets your hair

M

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