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For Celia, not a word she said,
But blush’d, “ celestial, rosy red !”
Her modest charms transport the youth,
Who promis'd everlasting truth.
Celia, in honour of the day,
Unusual splendour would display:
Such was the charm her sweetness gave,
He thought her Wedgewood had been séve ;
Her taste diffus'd a gracious air,
And chaste Simplicity was there,
Whose secret power, though silent, great is,
The loveliest of the sweet Penates.
FLOR!0, now present to the scene,
With spirits light, and gracious mien,
Sir GILBERT's port politely praises,
And carefully avoids French phrases;
Endures the daily dissertation
On Land-tax, and a ruin'd Nation;
Listens to many a tedious tale
Of poachers, who deserv'd a jail ;
Heard all the business of the Quorum,
Each cause and crime produc'd before 'em;
Heard them abuse, with complaisance,
The language, wines, and wits of France;
Nor did he hum a single air,
While good Sir GILBERT fill’d his chair.

Abroad, with joy and grateful pride,
He walks, with Celia by his side:
A thousand cheerful thoughts arise,
Each rural scene enchants his eyes;
With transport he begins to look
On Nature's all-instructive book :

No objects now seem mean, or low,
Which point to Him from whom they flow.
A berry or a bud excites
A chain of reasoning which delights,
Which, spite of sceptic ebullitions,
Proves Atheists not the best Logicians.
A tree, a brook, a blade of grass,
Suggests reflections as they pass,
Till FLORIO, with a sigh, confest
The simplest pleasures are the best !
BELLARIO's systems sink in air,
He feels the PERFECT, Good, and FAIR.
As pious CELIA rais’d the theme
To holy faith and love supreme;
Enlighten'd FLORIo learn'd to trace
In Nature's God the God of Grace.

In wisdom as the convert grew,
The hours on rapid pinions flew ;
When call’d to dress, that Titus wore
A wig the alter'd Florio swore;
Or else, in estimating time,
He ne'er had mark’d it as a crime,
That he had lost but one day's blessing,
When we so many lose, by dressing.

The rest, suffice it now to say,
Was finish'd in the usual way.
Cupid, impatient for his hour,
Revil'd slow Themis' tedious power,
Whose parchment legends, signing, sealing,
Are cruel forms for Love to deal in.
At length, to Florio's eager eyes,
Behold the day of bliss arise !

The golden sun illumes the globe,
The burning torch, the saffron robe,
Just as of old, glad Hymen wears,
And Cupid, as of old, appears
In Hymen's train; so strange the case,
They hardly knew each other's face;
Yet both confess’d with glowing heart
They never were design’d to part;
Quoth Hymen, sure you're strangely slighted
At weddings not to be invited;
The reason's clear enough, quoth Cupid,
My company is thought but stupid,
Where Plutus is the favourite guest,
For he and I scarce speak at best.

The self-same sun which joins the twain,
Sees Flavia sever'd from her swain :
BELLARIO sues for a divorce,
And both pursue their sep’rate course.

Oh wedded love, thy bliss how rare !
And yet the ill-assorted pair:
The pair who choose at Fashion's voice,
Or drag the chain of venal choice,
Have little cause to curse the State;
Who make, should never blame their fate;
Such flimsy ties, say where's the wonder,
If Doctors' Commons snap asunder.

In either case, 'tis still the wife,
Gives cast and colour to the life.
FLORIO escap'd from Fashion's school,
His heart and conduct learns to rule ;
Conscience his useful life approves;
He serves his God, his Country loves;

Reveres her laws, protects her rights,
And, for her interests, pleads or fights ;
Reviews with scorn his former life,
And, for his rescue, thanks his Wife.

DAN AND JANE:

OB,

FAITH AND WORKS.

A TALE.

Good Dan and Jane were man and wife, And liv'd a loving kind of life; One point, however, they disputed, And each by turns his mate confuted. 'Twas Faith and Works — this knotty question They found not easy of digestion. While Dan for Faith alone contended, Jane equally good Works defended. “ They are not Christians sure, but Turks, • Who build on Faith, and scoff at works,” Quoth Jane — While eager Dan reply'd, “ By none but Heathens Faith's deny’d. “ I'll tell you, wife,” at length quoth Dan, “ A story of a right good man; “ A patriarch sage, of ancient days, “ A man of Faith, whom all must praise. “ In his own country he possess'd, “ Whate'er can make a wise man blest; “ His was the flock, the field, the spring, “ In short, a little rural king.

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