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MARRIAGE.

A VISION.

BY DR, COTTON.

Fairest, this Vision is thy due,
I form'd th' instructive plan for you.
Slight not the rules of thoughtful age,
Your welfare actuates every page;
But ponder well my sacred theme,
And tremble, while you read my Dream.

Those awful words, “ till death do part,"
May well alarm the youthful heart:
No after-thought when once a wife;
The die is cast, and cast for life;
Yet thousands venture ev'ry day,
As some base passion leads the way.
Pert Sylvia talks of wedlock-scenes,
Though hardly enter'd on her teens;
Smiles on her whining spark, and hears
The sugar'd speech with raptur'd ears;
, Impatient of a parent's rule,
She leaves her sire and weds a fool;
Want enters at the guardless door,
And Love is fled, to come no more.

Some few there are of sordid mould,
Who barter youth and bloom for gold;
Careless with what or whom they mate,
Their ruling passion's all for state.
But Hymen, gen’rous, just, and kind,
Abhors the mercenary mind :
Such rebels groan beneath his rod,
For Hymen’s a vindictive god :
“ Be joyless every night,” he said,
“ And barren be their nuptial bed!”

Attend, my fair, to Wisdom's voice,
A better fate shall crown thy choice.
A married life, to speak the best,
Is all a

tery confest:
Yet if my fair-one will be wise;
I will insure my girl a prize;
Though not a prize to match thy worth,
Perhaps thy equal's not on earth.

'Tis an important point to know,
There's no perfection here below.
Man's an odd compound after all,
And ever has been since the Fall.
Say, that he loves you from his soul,
Still man is proud, nor brooks controul;
And though a slave in Love's soft school,
In wedlock claims his right to rule.
The best, in short, has faults about him;
If few those faults, you must not flout him.

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Fairest, this Vision is thy duc,
I form'd th' instructive plan for you.
Slight not the rules of thoughtful age,
Your welfare actuates every page;
But ponder well my sacred theme,
And tremble, while you read my Dream.

Those awful words, till death do part,"
May well aların the youthful heart:
No after-thought when once a wife;
The die is cast, and cast for life;
Yet thousands venture ev'ry day,
As some base passion leads the way.
Pert Sylvia talks of wedlock-scenes,
Though hardly enter'd on her teens;
Smiles on her whining spark, and hears
The sugar'd speech with raptur'd ears;
Impatient of a parent's rule,
She leaves her sire and weds a fool;
Want enters at the guardless door,
And Love is fled, to come no more.

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Some few there are of sordid mould,
Who barter youth and bloom for gold;
Careless with what or whom they mate,
Their ruling passion's all for state.
But Hymen, gen'rous, just, and kind,
Abhors the mercenary mind :
Such rebels groan beneath his rod,
For Hymen's a vindictive god:
"Be joyless every night,” he said,
And barren be their nuptial bed !"

Attend, my fair, to Wisdom's voice,
A better fate shall crown thy choice.
A warried life, to speak the best,
Is all a lottery confest:
Yet if my fair-one will be wise;
I will insure my girl a prize;
Though

not a prize to match thy worthy Perhaps thy equal's not on earth.

'Tis an important point to know, There's no perfection here below. Mian's an odd compound after all, And ever has been since the Fall. ay, that he loves you from his soul,

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With some, indeed, you can't dispense,
As want of temper and of sense.
For when the sun deserts the skies,
And the dull winter evenings rise,
Then for a husband's social pow'r,
To form the calm, conversive hour;
The treasures of thy breast explore, .
From that rich mine to draw the ore;
Fondly each gen'rous thought refine;
And give thy native gold to shine;
Show thee, as really thou art,
Though fair, yet fairer still at heart.

Say, when life's purple blossoms fade,
As soon they must, thou charming maid;
When in thy cheeks the roses die,
And sickness clouds that brilliant eye;
Say, when or age or pains invade,
And those dear limbs shall call for aid;
If thou art fetter'd to a fool,
Shall not his transient passion cool?
And when thy health and beauty end,
Shall thy weak mate persist a friend?
But to a man of sense, my dear,
E’en then thou lovely shalt appear;
He'll share the griefs that wound thy heart,
And weepiug claim the larger part;
Though age impairs that beauteous face,
He'll prize the pearl beyond its case.

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