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THE SHRUBBERY.

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION:

I.

OH, happy shades—to me unblest!
Friendly to peace, but not to me !

How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree'

II.

This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quiv'ring to the breeze,

Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
And please, if anything could please.

III.

But fix’d unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within,

Shows the same sadness ev’ry where,
And slights the season and the scene.

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For all that pleas'd in wood or lawn,
While Peace possess'd these silent bow'r?,
Her animating smile withdrawn, *
Has lost its beauties and its pow'rs.
VoI. I. 21*

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V.

The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley musing, slow;

They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me to mourish wo!

VI.

Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;

These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.

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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 deck'd with a smile. See, Mary, what beauties I bring From the shelter of that sunny shed, Where the flow’rs have the charms of the spring; Though abroad they are frozen and dead. II. *Tis a bow'r of Arcadian sweets, Where Flora is still in her prime, A fortress to which she retreats From the cruel assaults of the clime. While Earth wears a mantle of snow, These pinks are as fresh and as gay, As the fairest and sweetest that blow On the beautiful bosom of May. III. See how they have safely surviv'd The frowns of a sky so severe; Such Mary's true love, that has liv'd Through many a turbulent year The charms of the late blowing rose Seem grac'd with a livelier hue, And the winter of sorrow best shows The truth of a friend such as you.

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MUTUAL FORBEARANCE

NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE.

THE lady thus address'd her spouse:— What a mere dungeon is this house! By no means large enough; and was it, Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, Those hangings with their worn-out graces, Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, Are such an antiquated scene, They overwhelm me with the spleen. Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark, Makes answer quite beside the mark: No doubt, my dear, Ibade him come, Engag’d myself to be at home, And shall expect him at the door, Precisely when the clock strikes four. You are so deaf the lady cried, (And rais'd her voice, and frown'd beside.) You are so sadly deaf, my dear, What shall I do to make you hear? Dismiss poor Harry! he replies; Some people are more nice than wise: For one slight trespass all this stir f What if h9 did ride whip and spur,

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*Twas but a mile—your favorite horse
Will never look one hair the worse.
Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing-
Child! I am rather hard of hearing—
Yes, truly; one must scream and bawl :
I tell you, you can’t hear at all !
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.
Alas! and is domestick strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear’d,
As to be wantonly incurr'd,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On ev'ry trivial provocation 2
The kindest and the hapiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something, ev'ry day they live,
To pity, and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all.
A blemish or a sense impair’d,
Are crimes so little to be spar’d,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.
The love that cheers life's latest stage,
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserv’d by virtue from declension,
Becomes not weary of attention ;
But lives, when that exteriour grace,
Which first inspir'd the flame, deeays,

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