"And comes there, Boy, this benefit of books, "Of that smart dress, and of those dainty looks? *We must be kind-some offerings from the Farm "To the White Cot will speak our feelings warm; "Will show that people, when they know the fact, "Where they have judged severely, can retract. "Oft have I smiled, when I beheld her pass "With cautious step, as if she hurt the grass; "Where, if a snail's retreat she chanced to storm, "She look'd as begging pardon of the worm; “And what, said I, still laughing at the view, "Have these weak creatures in the world to do? "But some are made for action, some to speak; "And, while she looks so pitiful and meek, "Her words are weighty, though her nerves are weak."

Soon told the village-bells the rite was done, That join'd the school-bred Miss and Farmer's Son, Her former habits some slight scandal raised, But real worth was soon perceived and praised; She, her neat taste imparted to the Farm, And he, th' improving skill and vigorous arm. (1)

(1) ['The Widow's Tale' is rather of the facetious order. It contains the history of a farmer's daughter, who comes home from boardingschool a great deal too fine to tolerate the gross habits, or submit to the filthy drudgery, of her father's house; but is induced, by the warning history and sensible exhortations of a neighbouring Widow, in whom she expected to find a sentimental companion, to reconcile herself to all those abominations, and marry a jolly young farmer in the neighbourhood. The account of her horrors, on first coming down, is in Mr. Crabbe's best style of Dutch painting- a little coarse, and needlessly minute-but perfectly true, and marvellously coloured. - JEFFREY.]

TALE VIII.

THE MOTHER.

What though you have beauty,

Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? — As You Like It.

I would not marry her, though she were endowed with all that Adam had left him before he transgressed. As You Like It.

Wilt thou love such a woman? What! to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! - Not to be endured. — As You Like It.

Your son,

As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know

Her estimation hence.

All's Well that Ends Well.

Be this sweet Helen's knell;

He left a wife whose words all ears took captive,

Whose dear perfections hearts that scorn'd to serve
Humbly call'd Mistress.

All's Well that Ends Well.

305

TALE VIII.

THE MOTHER.

THERE was a worthy, but a simple Pair,
Who nursed a Daughter, fairest of the fair:
Sons they had lost, and she alone remain'd,
Heir to the kindness they had all obtain'd ;
Heir to the fortune they design'd for all,
Nor had th' allotted portion then been small;
But now, by fate enrich'd with beauty rare,
They watch'd their treasure with peculiar care :
The fairest features they could early trace,
And, blind with love, saw merit in her face-
Saw virtue, wisdom, dignity, and grace;
And Dorothea, from her infant years,
Gain'd all her wishes from their pride or fears;
She wrote a billet, and a novel read,

And with her fame her vanity was fed;
Each word, each look, each action was a cause
For flattering wonder and for fond applause;
She rode or danced, and ever glanced around,
Seeking for praise, and smiling when she found.
The yielding pair to her petitions gave

An humble friend to be a civil slave;

Who for a poor support herself resign'd
To the base toil of a dependent mind:
By nature cold, our Heiress stoop'd to art,
To gain the credit of a tender heart.

Hence at her door must suppliant paupers stand, To bless the bounty of her beauteous hand: And now, her education all complete, She talk'd of virtuous love and union sweet; She was indeed by no soft passion moved, But wish'd, with all her soul, to be beloved. Here, on the favour'd beauty Fortune smiled; Her chosen Husband was a man so mild, So humbly temper'd, so intent to please, It quite distress'd her to remain at ease, Without a cause to sigh, without pretence to tease: She tried his patience in a thousand modes, And tired it not upon the roughest roads. Pleasure she sought, and, disappointed, sigh'd For joys, she said, " to her alone denied ;" And she was 66 sure her parents, if alive, "Would many comforts for their child contrive:" The gentle Husband bade her name him one; "No-that," she answer'd, "should for her be done; "How could she say what pleasures were around? "But she was certain many might be found.”— "Would she some sea-port, Weymouth, Scarborough, grace?"

"He knew she hated every watering-place: ""The town?"—"What! now 'twas empty, joyless,

dull?"

"In winter?"- "No; she liked it worse when

full."