THE CHOICE OF A WIFE BY CHEESE.

THERE liv'd in York, an age ago,
A man whose name was Pimlico :
He lov'd three sisters passing well,
But which the best he could not tell.
These sisters three, divinely fair,
Show'd Pimlico their tenderest care:
For each was elegantly bred,

And all were much inclin'd to wed;
And all made Pimlico their choice,
And prais'd him with their sweetest voice.
Young Pim, the gallant and the gay,
Like ass divided 'tween the hay,
At last resolv'd to gain his ease,
And choose his wife by eating cheese.
He wrote his card, he seal'd it up,
And said with them that night he'd sup;
Desir'd that there might only be

Good Cheshire cheese, and but them three;
He was resolv'd to crown his life,
And by that means to fix his wife,
The girls were pleas'd at his conceit;
Each dress'd herself divinely neat;
With faces full of peace and plenty,
Blooming with roses under twenty.
For surely Nancy, Betsy, Sally,
Were sweet as lilies of the valley:
But singly surely buxom Bet
Was like new hay and mignionet;
But each surpass'd a poet's fancy,
For that of truth, was said of Nancy :
And as for Sal, she was a donna,
As fair as those of old Cretona,

"

Who to Apelles lent their faces
To make up madam Helen's graces.
To those the gay divided Pim - *****
Came elegantly smart and trím:
When ev'ry smiling maiden, certain,
Cut of the cheese to try her fortune.
Nancy, at once, not fearing-caring
To show her saving ate the paring;
And Bet, to show her gen'rous mind,
Cut, and then threw away the rind;
While prudent Sarah, sure to please,
Like a clean maiden, scrap'd the cheese.
This done, young Pimlico replied,

་

Sally I now declare my bride:

With Nan I can't my welfare put,
For she has prov'd a dirty slut :
And Betsy, who has par'd the rind,
Would give my fortune to the wind.
Sally the happy medium chose,
And I with Sally will repose;
She's prudent, cleanly; and the man
Who fixes on a nuptial plan
Can never err, if he will choose

A wife by cheese-before he ties the noose.'

Captain Thompson. I

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, I bade 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?
What if he did ride whip and spur,
'Twas but a mile-your fav'rite 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 domestic 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? The kindest and the happiest 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 exterior grace
Which first inspir'd the flame, decays.
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils it would gladly cure.
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression,
Shows love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his,
Or soon expels him if it is.

Cowper.

DR. DELANY'S VILLA.

WOULD you that Delville I describe?
Believe me, sir, I will not jibe;
For who would be satirical
Upon a thing so very small?

You scarce upon the borders cuter,
Before you're at the very centre.

A single crow can make it night,

When o'er your farm she takes her flight:
Yet, in this narrow compass, we
Observe a vast variety:

Both walks, walls, meadows, and parterres,
Windows, and doors, and rooms, and stairs,
And hills, and dales, and woods, and fields,
And hay, and grass, and corn, it yields;
All to your haggard brought so cheap in,
Without the mowing or the reaping:
A razor, though to say't I'm loth,

Would shave you and your meadows both.
Though small's the farm, yet there's a house
Full large to entertain a mouse;

But where a rat is dreaded more
Than savage Calydonian boar;
For, if it's enter'd by a rat,
There is no room to bring a cat.
A little riv'let seems to steal
Down through a thing you call a vale,
Like tears adown a wrinkled cheek,
Like rain along a blade of leek;
And this you call your sweet meander,
Which might be suck'd up by a gander,
Could he but force his nether bill
To scoop the channel of the rill :

For sure you'd make a mighty clutter,
Were it as big as city-gutter.

Next come I to your kitchen-garden,

Where one poor mouse would fare but hard in; And round this garden is a walk,

No longer than a tailor's chalk.

Thus 1 compare what space is in it;

A snail creeps round it in a minute.