mean

To die of love-the folly of fifteen ? '
But as her anger met with no reply,
She let the gentle girl in quiet die;
And to her sister wrote, impell'd by pain,
'Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain.'
Lucy meantime profess'd with joy sincere,
That nothing held, employ'd, engaged her
here.

"I am an humble actor, doom'd to play
A part obscure, and then to glide away;
Incurious how the great or happy shine,
Or who have parts obscure and sad as mine;
In its best prospect I but wish'd, for life,
To be th' assiduous, gentle, useful wife;
That lost, with wearied mind, and spirit poor,
I drop my efforts, and can act no more;
With growing joy I feel my spirits tend
To that last scene where all my duties end.'
Hope, ease, delight, the thoughts of dying
gave,

Till Lucy spoke with fondness of the grave;
She smiled with wasted form, but spirit firm,
And said, 'She left but little for the worm :
As toll'd the bell, 'There's one,' she said,
' hath press'd

Awhile before me to the bed of rest; '
And she beside her with attention spread
The decorations of the maiden dead.

While quickly thus the mortal part de-
clined,

The happiest visions fill'd the active mind;
A soft, religious melancholy gain'd
Entire possession, and for ever reign'd:
On holy writ her mind reposing dwelt,
She saw the wonders, she the mercies felt;
Till in a bless'd and glorious reverie,
She seem'd the Saviour as on earth to see,
And, fill'd with love divine, th' attending

friend to be;

Her Saviour resting in the tomb by night; Her fever rose, and still her wedded mind Was to that scene, that hallow'd cave, confined

Where in the shade of death the body laid, There watch'd the spirit of the wandering maid;

Her looks were fix'd, entranced, illumed, serene,

In the still glory of the midnight scene:
There at her Saviour's feet, in visions bless'd,
Th' enraptured maid a sacred joy possess'd;
In patience waiting for the first-born ray
Of that all-glorious and triumphant day:
To this idea all her soul she gave,
Her mind reposing by the sacred grave;
Then sleep would seal the eye, the vision close,
And steep the solemn thoughts in brief repose.

Then grew the soul serene, and all its powers
Again restored illumed the dying hours;
But reason dwelt where fancy stray'd before,
And the mind wander'd from its views no

more;

Till death approach'd, when every look express'd

A sense of bliss, till every sense had rest.

The mother lives, and has enough to buy Th' attentive ear and the submissive eye Of abject natures-these are daily told, How triumph'd beauty in the days of old; How, by her window seated, crowds have cast

Admiring glances, wondering as they pass'd; How from her carriage as she stepp'd to pray, Divided ranks would humbly make her way; And how each voice in the astonish'd throng Pronounced her peerless as she moved along.

Her picture then the greedy dame displays; Touch'd by no shame, she now demands its praise;

In her tall mirror then she shows a face, Still coldly fair with unaffecting grace; These she compares, 'It has the form,' she cries,

'But wants the air, the spirit, and the eyes; This, as a likeness, is correct and true, But there alone the living grace we view.' This said, th' applauding voice the dame required,

And, gazing, slowly from the glass retired.

blood

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd, Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,

Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
Midsummer Night's Dream, Act i, Scene 1.
I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage whom I dearly love.

Measure for Measure, Act ii, Scene 4. Contempt, farewell! and maiden pride, adieu! Much Ado about Nothing, Act iii, Scene 1.

OF a fair town where Doctor Rack was guide,
His only daughter was the boast and pride;
Wise Arabella, yet not wise alone,
She like a bright and polish'd brilliant shone;
Her father own'd her for his prop and stay,
Able to guide, yet willing to obey ;
Pleased with her learning while discourse
could please,

And with her love in languor and disease:
To every mother were her virtues known,
And to their daughters as a pattern shown;
Who in her youth had all that age requires,
And with her prudence, all that youth admires:
These odious praises made the damsels try
Not to obtain such merits, but deny;
For, whatsoever wise mammas might say,
To guide a daughter, this was not the way;
From such applause disdain and anger rise,
And envy lives where emulation dies.

In all his strength, contends the noble horse,
With one who just precedes him on the course;
But when the rival flies too far before,
His spirit fails, and he attempts no more.

This reasoning maid, above her sex's dread, Had dared to read, and dared to say she read; Not the last novel, not the new-born play; Not the mere trash and scandal of the day; But (though her young companions felt the shock)

She studied Berkeley, Bacon, Hobbes, and
Locke:

Her mind within the maze of history dwelt,
And of the moral muse the beauty felt;
The merits of the Roman page she knew,
And could converse with Moore and Montagu:

From that she reap'd, to that she gave renown, And strangers coming, all were taught t' admire

The learned lady, and the lofty spire.

Thus fame in public fix'd the maid, where all Might throw their darts, and see the idol fall; A hundred arrows came with vengeance keen, From tongues envenom'd, and from arms

unseen;

A thousand eyes were fix'd upon the place, That, if she fell, she might not fly disgrace: But malice vainly throws the poison'd dart, Unless our frailty shows the peccant part; And Arabella still preserved her name Untouch'd, and shone with undisputed fame; Her very notice some respect would cause, And her esteem was honour and applause.

Men she avoided; not in childish fear, As if she thought some savage foe was near; Not as a prude, who hides that man should seek,

Or who by silence hints that they should speak;

But with discretion all the sex she view'd,
Ere yet engaged, pursuing, or pursued ;
Ere love had made her to his vices blind,
Or hid the favourite's failings from her mind,
Thus was the picture of the man portray'd,
By merit destined for so rare a maid ;
At whose request she might exchange her
state,

Or still be happy in a virgin's fate.

He must be one with manners like her

own,

His life unquestion'd, his opinions known ;
His stainless virtue must all tests endure,
His honour spotless, and his bosom pure ;
She no allowance made for sex or times,
Of lax opinion-crimes were ever crimes;
No wretch forsaken must his frailty curse,
No spurious offspring drain his private purse :
He at all times his passions must command,
And yet possess-or be refused her hand.

All this without reserve the maiden told, And some began to weigh the rector's gold; To ask what sum a prudent man might gain,

Who had such store of virtues to maintain ?

His mother fondly laid her grief aside,
And to the reason of the nymph applied-
'It well becomes thee, lady, to appear,
But not to be, in very truth, severe;
Although the crime be odious in thy sight,
That daring sex is taught such things to slight:
His heart is thine, although it once was frail;
Think of his grief, and let his love prevail !-'
'Plead thou no more,' the lofty lass

return'd;

"Forgiving woman is deceived and spurn'd:
Say that the crime is common-shall I take
A common man my wedded lord to make?
See! a weak woman by his arts betray'd,
An infant born his father to upbraid;
Shall I forgive his vileness, take his name,
Sanction his error, and partake his shame ?
No! this assent would kindred frailty prove,
A love for him would be a vicious love:
Can a chaste maiden secret counsel hold
With one whose crime by every mouth is told?
Forbid it spirit, prudence, virtuous pride;
He must despise me, were he not denied :
The way from vice the erring mind to win
Is with presuming sinners to begin,
And show, by scorning them, a just contempt
for sin.'

The youth repulsed, to one more mild
convey'd

His heart, and smiled on the remorseless maid; The maid, remorseless in her pride, the while Despised the insult, and return'd the smile.

First to admire, to praise her, and defend, Was (now in years advanced) a virgin friend: Much she preferr'd, she cried, a single state, 'It was her choice it surely was her fate; And much it pleased her in the train to view A maiden vot'ress, wise and lovely too. Time to the yielding mind his change imparts,

He varies notions, and he alters hearts; 'Tis right, 'tis just to feel contempt for vice, But he that shows it may be over-nice : There are who feel, when young, the false sublime.

And proudly love to show disdain for crime; To whom the future will new thoughts supply, The pride will soften, and the scorn will die; Nay, where they still the vice itself condemn, They bear the vicious, and consort with them: Young Captain Grove, when one had changed

his side,

Despised the venal turn-coat, and defied:

Old Colonel Grove now shakes him by the hand,

Though he who bribes may still his vote command:

Why would not Ellen to Belinda speak,
When she had flown to London for a week;
And then return'd, to every friend's surprise,
With twice the spirit, and with half the size?
She spoke not then-but after years had
flown,

A better friend had Ellen never known:
Was it the lady her mistake had seen?
Or had she also such a journey been?
No: 'twas the gradual change in human
hearts,

That time, in commerce with the world, imparts;

That on the roughest temper throws disguise,
And steals from virtue her asperities.
The young and ardent, who with glowing zeal
Felt wrath for trifles, and were proud to feel,
Now find those trifles all the mind engage,
To soothe dull hours, and cheat the cares of
age;

As young Zelinda, in her quaker-dress,
Disdain'd each varying fashion's vile excess,
And now her friends on old Zelinda gaze,
Pleased in rich silks and orient gems to blaze :
Changes like these tis' folly to condemn,
So virtue yields not, nor is changed with them.
Let us proceed :-Twelve brilliant years

were past,

Yet each with less of glory than the last;
Whether these years to this fair virgin gave
A softer mind-effect they often have;
Whether the virgin-state was not so bless'd
As that good maiden in her zeal profess'd;
Or whether lovers falling from her train,
Gave greater price to those she could retain,
Is all unknown ;-but Arabella now
Was kindly listening to a merchant's vow;
Who offer'd terms so fair, against his love
To strive was folly, so she never strove.—
Man in his earlier days we often find
With a too easy and unguarded mind;
But by increasing years and prudence taught,
He grows reserved, and locks up every
thought:

Not thus the maiden, for in blooming youth
She hides her thought, and guards the tender

truth:

This, when no longer young, no more she hides, But frankly in the favour'd swain confides: