The Bride appear'd with blushing grace,
Cover'd with muslin, silk and lace.
The Banquet follow'd-and the Ball:-
John drew his purse and paid for all.
At length his town acquaintance greet
The married pair in Fenchurch Street.
He smil❜d and smirk'd, but many thought
He had not done the thing he ought;
And e'er three months had said adieu,
Why, he began to think so too.

The Lady was both young and pretty,
But then she did not like the City.
She lov'd expence, and he was saving;
She was for ev'ry pleasure craving;
And his great object was to sow

His

money, and to see it grow.

She, whose soft words and modest charms

Fill'd his fond bosom with alarms,

When in the Country first he lov'd ;—

In Town a fierce Virago prov'd.

In short, as we may well

suppose,

They now were friends, and then were foes.
John's face was sometimes seen to bleed ;
'Twas a bad razor did the deed :-
Though chatt'ring folks and loving friends
Would say 'twas Madam's fingers ends.

He in his bus'ness sought relief,
And getting money sooth'd his grief;
He found the bargain he had made
In marriage, was a losing trade:
But his experience did suggest,-
Of a bad bargain make the best.
All have their common cares in life,
And he had got a scolding wife:
Though, in the matrimonial firm,
'Tis Death alone dissolves the term;
Or something that's unfit to name,
A deadly foe to female fame;
And she had never wish'd to rove
From the chaste bounds of lawful love.
-He felt with pride his word was good,
That, on firm base, his credit stood;
In ev'ry mart he could command
The richest stores of ev'ry land;

And this with patience made him bear
The burthen of domestic care.

At home, 'twas true, a secret smile
From Molly could that care beguile,
And he would give a squeeze or more
To Molly when she op'd the door.
She knew his rap, and took good care,
With nimble step, to meet him there.

Now, as one night, he cheerless sat

With his cross-rib in bick'ring chat,

The Watchman cried-past twelve o'clock, When the door rattled with a knock ; And Molly enter'd, pale with fear'There's one who wants my Mistress here: 'But such a figure, Ma'am, that, sure, 'Your eyes will ne'er the sight endure.' DEATH enter'd as the damsel spoke, Pengethly trembled-Madam shook; Away the Shape his Victim bore; And, as he dragg'd her from the door,

She rav'd and threaten'd, kick'd and swore ;
Then call'd the Watch :-but soon the riot

Was heard no more-and all was quiet.

Pengethly follow'd to the gate,

Submissive to the will of Fate.

'Farewell, (he cried) my dearest dear!— As I no more shall see you here, 'To my fond wish it may be given, 'That we shall meet again in Heaven; 'And since your daily clamours cease, 'On earth I hope to live in peace.

}

DEATH, far away, my cares hath carried.— 'Molly,-to-morrow we'll be married.'

THE GLUTTON

AMONG those vices which the Law

Does not controul or keep in awe,

Which look not to the grave intent
Of any Act of Parliament;

Are subject to no other rule

Than what is taught in Reason's school;
But, straying from her general plan,
Degrade the character of Man;

Among them all, who can descry
A vice more mean than GLUTTONY?
Of any groveling slave of sense,
Not one can claim so small pretence
To that indulgence which the wise
Allow to human frailties,

As the inglorious, beastly sinner,
Whose only object is—a dinner.
The Miser, who heaps up his store,
May prove a Treasurer for the poor;
And, by his avarice, prepare

The funds by which his gen'rous heir

What do these sav'ry meats delight you? Begone, & stay, till I invite you.