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That tells, in letters large and clear,
“The Bones of Thomas Quince lie here!”
Should add a talisman of strife,
“Also the Bones of Jane his Wife l’”

No; while beneath this simple stone Old Quince shall sleep, and sleep alone, Some Village Oracle, who well Knows how to speak, and read, and spell, Shall slowly construe, bit by bit, My “natus” and my “obiit,” And then, with sage discourse and long, Recite my virtues to the throng:—

“The Gentleman came straight from Col-

A most prodigious man for knowledge
He used to pay all men their due,
Hated a miser—and a Jew,
But always opened wide his door
To the first knocking of the poor,
None, as the grateful Parish knows,
Save the Church-wardens, were his foes;
They could not bear the virtuous pride
Which gave the sixpence they denied.
If neighbours had a mind to quarrel,
He used to treat them to a barrel;
And that, I think, was sounder law
Than any book I ever saw.

The Ladies never used to flout him ;
But this was rather strange about him,
That, gay or thoughtful, young or old,
He took no wife, for love or gold;
Woman he called ‘a pretty thing,"—
But never could abide a ring !”

Good Mr. Pringle !—you must see Your arguments are light with me; They buzz like feeble flies around me, But leave me firm, as first they found me. Silence your logic l burn your pen The Poet says “we all are men;” And all “condemned alike to groan l’” You with a wife, and I with none. Well!—yours may be a happier lot, But it is one I envy not ; And you'll allow me, Sir, to pray, That, at Some near-approaching day, You may not have to wince and whine, And find some cause to envy mine !


WHAT, what is Marriage 2 Harris, Priscian, Assist me with a definition.— “Oh s” cries a charming, silly fool, Emerging from her boarding-school— “Marriage is—love without disguises, It is a-something that arises From raptures and from stolen glances, To be the end of all romances; Vows—quarrels—moonshine—babes—but

hush |

I mustn't have you see me blush.”

“Pshaw l’” says a modern modish wife, “Marriage is splendour, fashion, life; A house in town, and villa shady, Balls, diamond bracelets, and “my lady;’ Then for finale, angry words, “Some people's—“obstinate’s—“absurdl’s And peevish hearts, and silly heads, And oaths, and ‘bète 's and separate beds !”

An aged bachelor, whose life
Has just been sweetened with a wife,
Tells out the latent grievance thus:
“Marriage is—odd l for one of us

'Tis worse a mile than rope or tree,
Hemlock, or sword, or slavery :
An end at once to all our ways,
Dismission to the one-horse chaise;
Adieu to Sunday can, and pig,
Adieu to wine, and whist, and wig;
Our friends turn out, our wife's are clapped
in ; - -
'Tis “exit Crony,”—“enter Captain.”
Then hurry in a thousand thorns,—
Quarrels, and compliments, and horns.
This is the yoke, and I must wear it;
Marriage is—hell, or something near it !”

“Why, marriage,” says an exquisite,
Sick from the supper of last night,
“Marriage is—after one by me !
I promised Tom to ride at three.—
Marriage is—'gad's I’m rather late;
La Fleur !—my stays' and chocolate l—
Marriage is—really, though, 'twas hard
To lose a thousand on a card;
Sink the old Duchess l—three revokes |
'Gad I must fell the Abbey oaks:
Mary has lost a thousand more l—
Marriage is---'gad' a cursed bore l’”

Hymen, who hears the blockheads groan,
Rises indignant from his throne,

And mocks their self-reviling tears,
And whispers thus in Folly’s ears:

“O frivolous of heart and head! If strifes infest your nuptial bed, Not Hymen's hand, but guilt and sin, Rashion and folly, force them in ; If on your couch is seated Care, I did not bring the scoffer there; If Hymen’s torch is feebler grown, The hand that quenched it was your own; And what I am, unthinking elves, Ye all have made me for yourselves 1’’

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