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!"' 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, "The Gentleman came straight from Col lege! A most prodigious man for knowledge! But always opened wide his door The Ladies never used to flout him; 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! burn your pen! The Poet says (6 we all are men;" And all "condemned alike to groan!" And you'll allow me, Sir, to pray, MARRIAGE. WHAT, What is Marriage? Harris, Priscian, Assist me with a definition. "Oh!" cries a charming, silly fool, Emerging from her boarding-school— Marriage is-love without disguises, From raptures and from stolen glances, hush! I mustn't have you see me blush." "Pshaw!" 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-'absurd!'s And peevish hearts, and silly heads, And oaths, and 'bête 's and separate beds!" Has just been sweetened with a wife, 'Tis worse a mile than rope or tree, Our friends turn out,—our wife's are clapped in; 'Tis 'exit Crony,'-'enter Captain.' Then hurry in a thousand thorns,— "Why, marriage," says an exquisite, Sink the old Duchess!-three revokes! Hymen, who hears the blockheads groan, And mocks their self-reviling tears, "O frivolous of heart and head! The hand that quenched it was your own; Ye all have made me for yourselves!" |