Butler and wife, scullion and stable-boy;
With many a male and many a maid beside;
And mindless they of nature's first estate,

Rush where the screams of old and squeamish Maid,
Herself half-naked, horridly invite-

And where old Dadd, whose doublets loosely hung,

One poor unequal button holding all,

Form his whole dress, save shirt and night-cap redSudden she turns her shock'd eye, far away

From the unnatural coachman's bristly breast,

From the unbearded gaping stable-boy,
And catches, hideous object! in its course,
A transient glance of what their linen scant,
All loose and blown about, may chance disclose
The rest, who think not man so great a fright,
But that thro' spreading fingers o'er the face,
He safely may be view'd, survey him well;
The stifled titter proves him worth the gaze,
The falling hand declares decreasing fear,
While the more trusting eye and grateful heart
Confess him welcome, naked tho' he stand;
For, in his stout and sinewy frame, they trace
Their shield in danger, and their mate in joy.-
Conscious of this, they take no wond'rous pains,
All the white beauties of the neck to hide,
Nor mind, if pink on hill of snow, escape
The sudden snatch of smicket to the breast,
And o'er the yielding hem or puck'ring frill,
Force on the ravish'd eye its blushing head;

Nor care they much, if in the wild alarm,
The huddled folds reveal the well-turn'd knee.-
Struck with the scene so unexpected, new,
The old man for awhile forgets his wrath,
His daughter's flight i' th' contemplation lost,
Of fat cook's leg, or red-fac'd Nan's white neck.
But soon the mutual wonder and surprize,
The cold averted, yet returning eye,
With each emotion that awhile had held
The startled senses in a mix'd amaze,
Sink in the motive of the sudden cause,
Of this so strange, yet laughable encounter-
Their orders ta'en from passion's quivering lip,
In different ways the press'd domestics run.-
The old fetch blunderbuss and rusty sword;
The young back Dobbin in the lumb'ring shafts,
To o'ertake swift Love escap'd in chaise and four,
Whirl'd on by changed coursers fleet as wind→
Idle pursuit should passion's sanguine soul
Pursue the certain course by Prudence trac'd;
For Vulcan, the black Parson of the Green,
Or absent he, his san-culotteish clerk,

Fail not to strike when things are red and ripe ;
For they have found, and on a sudden too,
Mad love go out, and hottest iron cool,

Long e're the close conclusive stroke was giv'n.-
Yet may the tender nymph, unhappy made
By female spleen, or tyranny of man,

Find all things form'd t' accelerate escape,

And perfect what her doating fancy forms,
If true love bid, if real worth implore,
Wealth set aside, and captious age compel.-
But, if (nice prudence frowning on the act,
And sweet contentment trembling at the deed)
She fly a tender parent's anxious arms,
And to some worthless wight resign her all,
Her lovely body and her beauteous mind!
So Heaven befriend me, I should not repine,
If horses tire, or crazy coach break down.-
Nor murmur once, if by the self-same means,
That hapless Louis lost his precious life,
Entailing on his Queen, his children, all,—
His country too, distraction, slavery, death,
In thoughtless moment for a roasted chick;
If she, for something sav'ry, rich and brown,
Stop, till the hot pursuers may partake.~
On such an errand, and in such a case,
I wou'd myself assist to damn their joy,
And cheat the bare-breech'd blacksmith of his fee:
Nay drag her forth to an incensed sire,

And hear the sentence pass his trembling lips,
To lock-up room and treatment most severe;-
E'en with that pleasure I shou'd trace the tear,
Run down the flinty father's alter'd face,
Its harsh lines soft'ning to returning love,
When to his feet the wedded maid repairs,
And tho' rememb'ring well his will severe,
Yet to him more by love than interest bound,

With sweet unlesson'd eloquence, implores
Forgiveness of her flight, and begs one hand,
Her youthful lord, long injur'd by his hate,
At length may take, and with the other strain
Her anxious bosom to his yearning breast,
And to entire oblivion give the past.-

Sweet gentle spirit! once the prayer preferr❜d,
Curse the cold heart thy pleading wou'd not warm!
And curse the pride that tow'rs above thy suit!

Whilst love return'd, and friendship well observ'd,
Those dear enchantments charming care away,
Making existence e'en to sorrow dear,

Thus frames with skill the business of their joys,
Each future prospect bright'ning to their view,
Say what the deed, sad Disappointment forms?
Each ray of comfort fading fast away,
And every shade of misery black'ning in,

To cut off every succour-every joy:

When robb'd of all the mind acknowledg'd dear,
In sullen gloom it holds unequal parle,

With that arch fiend and counsellor, Despair!

The SUICIDE, oh NIGHT! thou well might'st claim,
Nor only claim, but almost call thine own;
And sure a more ungrateful inmate, ne'er
Sought the cold mansion of thy modest breast,
Wrapt his shrunk carcase in thy robe of jet,
And e'er meek morning on his slumbers smil'd,
Stabb'd thro' the starting folds his desp'rate heart,-

Made thee accomplice in the horrid crime,
And to thy guileless soul attach'd the pang.
The SUICIDE, poor wretch! oppress'd with cares,
With ills unshunable, or heinous acts,

His coward mind can neither brave nor meet,
In retrospective thought-oft'ner perhaps
The hapless victim of unanswer'd Love,
Of Friendship largely plac'd and ill repaid:
So may I deem-for Fate's full quiver bears
No mortal arrows half so long or sharp,
Or with such subtle searching poison tipt.
His soul once 'reft of happiness at home,
Shov'd from that corner where it long had sat
And snugly feasted fat on many a joy,

That seem'd thro' life's long tenure thrice his own;
A title clear, with no contingent clogg'd;

But ill endures the cold and cheerless fare,
Buckles to alter'd life with aukward grace,
And seldom triumphs o'er the dreadful change-
No! every ravag'd comfort forc'd abroad,
Shou'd his press'd spirit rally in defeat,
And wait awhile perhaps, of Fortune's wheel,
Some fav'ing turn, to draw a transient smile,
A trifling prize of momentary joy,

To mingle with her blanks, and face her frowns;
Such, as at times, may still with blessed pow'r,
The rooted pain, or so the anguish soothe,
That tho' much tortur'd he may yet endure,
And battle with the woes that bend him low.