WHAT! are you then in earnest, friend?
Oh, no!- it cannot be:
It's quite impossible that you
Should think of courting me!
Indeed you'd better take your love
Elsewhere; for sure am I
We are by no means suited for
The Matrimonial tie.
A roving, ruffling blade-
And I, as ev'ry body knows,
A quiet, gente maid;
From early youth accustom'd to
The peaceful joys of home,
Amid the rude and bustling world
I have no wish to roam:
In Housewif'ry and its behefts,
The greatest charm I find,
And when from these I seek relief,
Why then with humble mind
I read some holy book, or spin,
And often take delight
To imitate in 'broidery
Some posie's colours bright:
'Tis seldom I go out to walk,
And in the Street but rare,
Excepting to and fro from Church,
Or when I go to bear
Some comfort to the sick and poor,
For we are taught to give
Some share of that we have, to those
Who labour hard to live.
But you without restraint give loose
To passion's wilder sway,
Love feasting, wine and riot,
And are giv'n much to play:
You know no rest, and to your mind
No moment hath such charms,
As when the drum or trumpet shrill
Calls all the Camp to arms.
Methinks some Trooper's daughter were
For you a fitter bride,
Who in the Soldier's ruder life
And habits takes a pride:
Whose eye unmov'd could look upon
The blood-stain'd battle-field,
Nor to the best one yield.
Who when she hears the cannon roar,
Would stand unmov'd by fear,
And say, what others terrifies
Is music to her ear.
Such is the Bride would suit you best,
The Wise whom you would find
Most suited to your habits,
And your rougher tone of mind.
Who without dread would pass her hand
Upon your Rapier's blade,
And bid you sight until you fell,
And 'neath the turf were laid:
But I who am a timid thing,
Who even fear the smoke
Of Petronel and Arquebus,
Much less the cannon's stroke;
Who see in you alone what would
Make me such misery,
I am no ways a match for you,
Nor are you fit for me.
Look but around and you will see
Where'er you turn your eye,
The Birds which on the water swim,
And those which on the water swim,
And those which soar on high-
All choose their mates as most beseems,
And concord every where;
Each woos his like, as it should be,
And like with like doth pair.
Nought can induce the Dove to take
The Eagle for her mate.
The Patridge to the Buzzard-hawk
Will never link her fate;
The Raven black weds not the Swan,
'Twas not by Nature meant,
For ''Like with like''alone, my friend,
Can give the heart content.
THIS waxen torch is able to endure
The winds, when AEolus puts them in ure,
It leads the way in darknesse of the night,
And, though the serene fall, it shewes his Light:
The candle still lurks at home, and there doth show
Its light, not caring how the winds doe blow,
This as the houses joy at home doth stay,
The other still abroad doth make his way
The hardy husband from his house goes forth
Seeking to compasse business of worth;
He sailes by rockes and sands, earely and late
He toiles, and seekes to purchase an estate:
The wife at home much like a snaile she sits
On hous-wifry employing all her wits:
Ulysses in his travels hard did shift,
Penelope at home did use her thrift.
FARLIE'S Emblems.
BRIDES OF ONE FATHER WILL FLOCKE TOGETHER
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