Your love, like that display'd upon the stage,
Indulged is folly, and opposed is rage;-
More prudent love our sober couples show,
All that to mortal beings, mortals owe;
All flesh is grass-before you give a heart,
Remember, Sybil, that in death you part;
And should your husband die before your love,
What needless anguish must a widow prove!
No! my fair child, let all such visions cease;
Yield but esteem, and only try for peace."

"I must be loved," said Sybil; "I must see
The man in terrors who aspires to me;
At my forbidding frown his heart must ache,
His tongue must falter, and his frame must shake:
And if I grant him at my feet to kneel,

What trembling, fearful pleasure must he feel;
Nay, such the raptures that my smiles inspire,
That reason's self must for a time retire.

"Alas! for good Josiah," said the dame, "These wicked thoughts would fill his soul with shame; He kneel and tremble at a thing of dust!

He cannot, child :"-the Child replied, "He must."
They ceased: the matron left her with a frown;
So Jonas met her when the Youth came down :
Behold," said he, "thy future spouse attends;
Receive him, daughter, as the best of friends;
Observe, respect him-humble be each word,
That welcomes home thy husband and thy lord."
Forewarn'd, thought Sybil, with a bitter smile,
I shall prepare my manner and my style.

Ere yet Josiah enter'd on his task,

The father met him-" Deign to wear a mask
A few dull days, Josiah-but a few—
It is our duty, and the sex's due;

I wore it once, and every grateful wife
Repays it with obedience through her life:
Have no regard to Sybil's dress, have none
To her pert language, to her flippant tone:
Henceforward thou shalt rule unquestion'd and alone;
And she thy pleasure in thy looks shall seek-
How she shall dress, and whether she may speak."
A sober smile return'd the Youth, and said,
"Can I cause fear, who am myself afraid?"

Sybil, meantime, sat thoughtful in her room,
And often wonder'd-" Will the creature come?
Nothing shall tempt, shall force me to bestow
My hand upon him,-yet I wish to know."

The door unclosed, and she beheld her sire Lead in the Youth, then hasten to retire ;

"Daughter, my friend-my daughter, friend," he cried. And gave a meaning look, and stepp'd aside:

That look contain'd a mingled threat and prayer, "Do take him, child,-offend him if you dare."

The couple gazed-were silent, and the maid

Look'd in his face, to make the man afraid;
The man, unmoved, upon the maiden cast
A steady view-so salutation pass'd:
But in this instant Sybil's eye had seen
The tall fair person, and the still staid mien;
The glow that temp'rance o'er the cheek had spread,
Where the soft down half veil'd the purest red;
And the serene deportment that proclaim'd
A heart unspotted, and a life unblamed:
But then with these she saw attire too plain,
The pale brown coat, though worn without a stain;
The formal air, and something of the pride
That indicates the wealth it seems to hide ;
And looks that were not, she conceived, exempt
From a proud pity, or a sly contempt.

Josiah's eyes had their employment too,
Engaged and soften'd by so bright a view;
A fair and meaning face, an eye of fire,
That check'd the bold, and made the free retire:
But then with these he mark'd the studied dress
And lofty air, that scorn or pride express;
With that insidious look, that seem'd to hide
In an affected smile the scorn and pride;
And if his mind the virgin's meaning caught,
He saw a foe with treacherous purpose fraught-
Captive the heart to take, and to reject it, caught.
Silent they sat-thought Sybil, that he seeks
Something, no doubt; I wonder if he speaks:
Scarcely she wonder'd, when these accents fell
Slow in her ear-" Fair maiden, art thou well?"
"Art thou physician ?" she replied; "my hand,
My pulse, at least, shall be at thy command."

She said and saw, surprised, Josiah kneel,
And gave his lips the offer'd pulse to feel;
The rosy colour rising in her cheek,

Seem'd that surprise unmix'd with wrath to speak;
Then sternness she assumed, and-"Doctor, tell;
Thy words cannot alarm me-am I well?"

"Thou art," said he; "and yet thy dress so light,

I do conceive, some danger must excite :"

"In whom?" said Sybil, with a look demure: "In more," said he, "than I expect to cure ;I, in thy light luxuriant robe behold

Want and excess, abounding and yet cold;

Here needed, there display'd, in many a wanton fold:
Both health and beauty, learned authors show,
From a just medium in our clothing flow."
"Proceed, good doctor; if so great my need,
What is thy fee? Good doctor! pray proceed."
"Large is my fee, fair lady, but I take
None till some progress in my cure I make:
Thou hast disease, fair maiden; thou art vain ;
Within that face sit insult and disdain ;
Thou art enamour'd of thyself; my art

Can see the naughty malice of thy heart:
With a strong pleasure would thy bosom move,
Were I to own thy power, and ask thy love;
And such thy beauty, damsel, that I might,
But for thy pride, feel danger in thy sight,

And lose my present peace in dreams of vain delight."
"And can thy patients," said the nymph "endure
Physic like this? and will it work a cure?"

"Such is my hope, fair damsel; thou, I find, Hast the true tokens of a noble mind;

But the world wins thee, Sybil, and thy joys
Are placed in trifles, fashions, follies, toys;
Thou hast sought pleasure in the world around,
That in thine own pure bosom should be found;
Did all that world admire thee, praise and love,
Could it the least of nature's pains remove?
Could it for errors, follies, sins atone,
Or give the comfort, thoughtful and alone?
It has, believe me, maid, no power to charm
Thy soul from sorrow, or thy flesh from harm:
Turn then, fair creature, from a world of sin,
And seek the jewel happiness within."

"Speak'st thou at meeting?" said the nymph; "thy speech Is that of mortal very prone to teach;

But wouldst thou, doctor, from the patient learn

Thine own disease?-the cure is thy concern."

"Yea, with good will."-" Then know 'tis thy complaint,
That, for a sinner, thou 'rt too much a saint;
Hast too much show of the sedate and pure,
And without cause art formal and demure:
This makes a man unsocial, unpolite;
Odious when wrong, and insolent if right.

Thou mayst be good, but why should goodness be
Wrapt in a garb of such formality?

Thy person well might please a damsel's eye,
In decent habit with a scarlet dye;

But, jest apart-what virtue canst thou trace
In that broad brim that hides thy sober face?
Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice
And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice?
Then for thine accent-what in sound can be

So void of grace as dull monotony ?

Love has a thousand varied notes to move

The human heart :-thou mayest not speak of love
Till thou hast cast thy formal ways aside,

And those becoming youth and nature tried:
Not till exterior freedom, spirit, ease,

Prove it thy study and delight to please;
Not till these follies meet thy just disdain,
While yet thy virtues and thy worth remain."
"This is severe !-Oh! maiden wilt not thou
Something for habits, manners, modes, allow ?”—
"Yes! but allowing much, I much require,
In my behalf, for manners, modes, attire!"

"True, lovely Sybil; and, this point agreed, Let me to those of greater weight proceed: Thy father!"-"Nay," she quickly interposed, "Good doctor, here our conference is closed!"

Then left the Youth, who, lost in his retreat,
Pass'd the good matron on her garden-seat;
His looks were troubled, and his air, once mild
And calm, was hurried :-" My audacious child!"
Exclaim'd the dame, "I read what she has done
In thy displeasure-Ah! the thoughtless one:
But yet, Josiah, to my stern good man
Speak of the maid as mildly as you can:
Can you not seem to woo a little while
The daughter's will, the father to beguile ?
So that his wrath in time may wear away;
Will you preserve our peace, Josiah ? say.'
"Yes! my good neighbour," said the gentle youth,
"Rely securely on my care and truth;
And should thy comfort with my efforts cease,
And only then,-perpetual is thy peace."

The dame had doubts: she well his virtues knew,
His deeds were friendly, and his words were true:
"But to address this vixen is a task

He is ashamed to take, and I to ask."
Soon as the father from Josiah learn'd

What pass'd with Sybil, he the truth discern'd.

"He loves," the man exclaim'd, "he loves, 'tis plain,
The thoughtless girl, and shall he love in vain?
She may be stubborn, but she shall be tried,
Born as she is of wilfulness and pride."

With anger fraught, but willing to persuade,
The wrathful father met the smiling maid:
"Sybil," said he, "I long, and yet I dread
To know thy conduct-hath Josiah fled?
And, grieved and fretted by thy scornful air,
For his lost peace, betaken him to prayer?
Couldst thou his pure and modest mind distress
By vile remarks upon his speech, address,
Attire, and voice ?". "All this I must confess."
Unhappy child! what labour will it cost

66

To win him back!"- "I do not think him lost."
"Courts he then (trifler !) insult and disdain ?”—
"No; but from these he courts me to refrain."
"Then hear me, Sybil: should Josiah leave

Thy father's house?"-"My father's child would grieve.' "That is of grace, and if he come again

To speak of love?"-" I might from grief refrain." "Then wilt thou, daughter, our design embrace ?""Can I resist it, if it be of Grace?"

"Dear child in three plain words thy mind express:

Wilt thou have this good youth ?"-"Dear Father! yes."

TALE VIL

THE WIDOW'S TALE.

Ah me! for aught that I could ever read,

Or ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth;
But either it was different in blood,

Or else misgrafted in respect of years,
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it.

Midsummer Night's Dream, Act i.

Oh! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily,
If thou rememberest not the slighest folly
That ever love did make thee run into.

As You Like It, Aet il

Cry the man mercy! love him, take his offer.

As You Like It, Aat fil

To Farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down,
His only daughter, from her school in town;
A tender, timid maid! who knew not how
To pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow:

Smiling she came, with petty talents graced,
A fair complexion, and a slender waist.

Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure,
Her father's kitchen she could ill endure:
Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat,
And laid at once a pound upon his plate;
Hot from the field, her eager brother seized
An equal part, and hunger's rage appeased;
The air surcharged with moisture, flagg'd around,
And the offended damsel sigh'd and frown'd;
The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid,
And fancy's sickness seized the loathing maid:
But when the men beside their station took,
The maidens with them, and with these the cook;
When one huge wooden bowl before them stood,
Fill'd with huge balls of farinaceous food;
With bacon, mass saline, where never lean
Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen;
When from a single horn the party drew
Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new;
When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a stair
Soil'd by rude hinds who cut and came again-