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No graceful form I prize; no bosom fair,
But where mild Pity dwells-Her Sister Love
Her blushing Sister, entereth only there;

And, with Her, all the Virtues from above.

C. H. S.

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To make a merry time on't while they may.

Come twelve-months hence, I warrant them they'd ge To church again more willingly than now

So all might be undone.


An ill-match'd pair

So I conceive you. Youth perhaps and age?


No-both are young enough.


Perhaps the man then→→→

A lazy idler, one who better likes

The alehouse than his work?


Why Sir, for that

He always was a well-conditioned lad,

One who'd work hard and well; and as for drink, Save now and then mayhap at Christmas time, Sober as wife could wish.


Then is the girl

A shrew, or else untidy. One who'd welcome
Her husband with a rude unruly tongue,
Or drive him from a foul and wretched home
To look elsewhere for comfort. Is it so?


She's notable enough, and as for temper

The best good-humour'd girl! d'ye see that house?
There by the aspin tree whose grey leaves shine
In the wind? she lived a servant at the farm,

And often as I came to weeding here,

I've heard her singing as she milk'd her cows
So chearfully, I did not like to hear her,

Because it made me think upon

the days

When I had got as little on my mind,

And was as chearful too. But she would marry,

And folks must reap as they have sown. God help her!


Why Mistress, if they both are well inclined,
Why should not both be happy?


They've no money.


But both can work; and sure as chearfully

She'd labour for herself as at the farm.

And he wo'nt work the worse because he knows

That she will make his fire-side ready for him,
And watch for his return.

A little while.


All very well,


And what if they are poor?

Riches ca'nt always purchase happiness,

And much we know will be expected there

Where much was given.


All this I have heard at church!

And when I walk in the church-yard, or have been
By a death bed, 'tis mighty comforting.

But when I hear my children cry for hunger
And see them shiver in their rags,-God help me!
I pity those for whom these bells ring up
So merrily upon their wedding day,

Because I think of mine.


You have known trouble,

These haply may be happier.


Why for that

I've had my share; some sickness and some sorrow,

Well will it for them to know no worse.

Yet had I rather hear a daughter's knell

Than her wedding peal, Sir, if I thought her fate
Promised no better things.


Sure, sure, good Woman,

You look upon the world with jaundiced eyes!
All have their cares; those who are poor want wealth,
Those who have wealth want more, so are we all

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