Your feelings in their full amount,
Are all upon your own account.

You, in your grotto-work enclosed,
Complain of being thus exposed;
Yet nothing feel in that rough coat,
Save when the knife is at your throat,
Wherever driven by wind or tide,
Exempt from every ill befide.

And as for you, my Lady Squeamish,
Who reckon every touch a blemish,
If all the plants, that can be found
Embellishing the scene around,

Should droop and wither where they grow,
You would not feel at all-not you.
The nobleft minds their virtue prove
By pity, fympathy, and love:

These, these are feelings truly fine,
And prove their owner half divine.

His cenfure reached them as he dealt it, And each by shrinking showed he felt it.

THE SHRUBBERY.

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION,

I.

Oн, happy shades-to me unbleft!
Friendly to peace, but not to me!

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

II.

This glaffy ftream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quivering to the breeze,
Might foothe a foul less hurt than mine,
And pleafe, if any thing could please.
III.

But fixt unalterable care

Foregoes not what the feels within, Shows the same sadness every where, And flights the season and the scene,

IV.

For all that pleased in wood or lawn,

While peace poffeffed these filent bowers,

Her animating fmile withdrawn,

Has loft its beauties and its powers.

V.

The faint or moralift should tread

This mofs-grown alley mufing, flow;
They seek like me the fecret shade,
But not like me to nourish woe!

VI.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects wafte
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments paft,

And those of forrows yet to come,

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.

I.

WHAT nature, alas! has denied

To the delicate growth of our isle,

Art has in a measure supplied,

And winter is decked with a smile.

See, Mary, what beauties I bring

From the shelter of that funny shed,

Where the flowers have the charms of the spring, Though abroad they are frozen and dead.

II.

'Tis a bower of Arcadian fweets, Where Flora is ftill in her prime, A fortrefs to which she 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 sweeteft, that blow

On the beautiful bofom of May.
III.

See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe;
Such Mary's true love, that has lived
Through many a turbulent year.
The charms of the late blowing rofe
Seem graced with a livelier hue,
And the winter of forrow beft shows

The truth of a friend fuch as you.

MUTUAL FORBEARANCE

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE.

THE lady thus addreffed her spouse-
What a mere dungeon is this house!
By no means large enough; and was it,
Yet this dull room, and that dark clofet,
Thofe hangings with their worn-out graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces,
Are fuch an antiquated scene,
They overwhelm me with the fpleen.
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
Makes answer quite befide the mark:
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
Engaged myself to be at home,
And shall expect him at the door,
Precisely when the clock ftrikes four.
You are fo deaf, the lady cried,

(And raised her voice, and frowned befide)

You are fo fadly deaf, my dear,

What shall I do to make you hear?