accordin to your promis, and i will be yor
P S. Pray dont let yor mes-mat Jac see this yow do hel tel owr nan, and shel ter mi hart owt then, for she is a divil at me now.
DEAR object of my love, whose manly charms
With bliss extatick filled my circling arms!
That bliss is past, and nought for me remains,
But dire reproach, and never-pitied pains;
For, death to mine, and food for others' pride,
My sister has my growing shame descried;
Even she assails me with opprobious name,
When the prude's conscious she deserves the same.
Her loose associate sated from her flies,
And vainly to seduce my virtue tries.
True as a wife; I only want the name,
O haste and wed me, and preserve my fame
And if your present power will not afford
To fee the Priest, and spread the nuptial board,
The finry which your fondness did bestow,
Full freely to supply that want shall go.
With love alone attired; love all my guide,
Oh could I see myself your naked bride ;
No Dame I'd envy for her jointured lands;
Love scorns the lawyer's mercenary bands.
Nor shall you want the mystick ring of gold,
My sister Ann's my finger shall enfold;
To me, but just that forfeit for the wrong
My love sustains from her licentious tongue.
Then haste away, and strike detraction dead,
The nuptial feast awaits you, and the bed:
Fail not; my hope, my banish'd peace restore;
Confirm the truth, you plighted me before;
Nor fear the bond that will endure for life
With me your loving and your faithful wife.
P. S.-These earnest dictates of my anxious heart,
I beg you will not to your friend impart,
For oft beneath fair friendship's specious show.
The traitor lurks the undermining foe.
He published, 1. Judah Restored; A Poem in six books, and 2. Poems, 1766.
THE POOR MAN'S PRAYER, &c.
AMIDST the more important toils of state,
The counsels labouring in thy patriot soul,
Though Europe from thy voice expect her fate,.
And thy keen glance extend from pole to
O Chatham, nursed in ancient Virtue's lore,
To these sad strains incline a favouring ear;
Think on the God, whom thou, and I adore,
Nor turn unpitying from the Poor Man's
Prayer.
Ah me! how blest was once a peasant's life!
No lawless passion swell'd my even breast;
Far from the roaring waves of civil strife,
Sound were my slumbers, and my heart at rest.
I ne'er for guilty, painful pleasure roved,
But taught by nature, and by choice to wed, From all the hamlet call'd whom best I loved, With her I shared my heart, with her my bed.
To gild her worth, I ask'd no wealthy dower,
My toil could feed her, and my arm defend;
I envied no man's riches; no man's power,
I ask'd of none to give, of none to lend.
And she, the faithful partner of my care,
When ruddy evening streak'd the western sky, Look'd towards the uplands, if her mate was
Or through the beech-wood cast an anxious eye:
Then, careful matron, heap'd the maple board
With savoury herbs, and pick'd the nicer part
From such plain food as nature could afford,
Ere simple nature was debauch'd by art.
While I, contented with my homely cheer,
Saw round my knees our prattling children play:
And oft with pleased attention sat to hear
The little history of their idle day.)
But ah! how changed the scene! on the cold stones,
Where wont at night to blaze the chearful fire, Pale famine sits, and counts her naked bones, Still sighs for food, still pines with vain desire.
My faithful wife with ever-streaming eyes
Hangs on my bosom her dejected head;
My helpless infants raise their feeble cries,
And from their father claim their daily bread.
Dear tender pledges of my honest love,
On that bare bed behold your brother lie; Three tedious days with pinching want he strove, The fourth, I saw the helpless cherub die.
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