To one's parents 'tis gratefully due Just think what a terrible thing 'Twould have been, sir, for me and for you, If ours had forgotten the ring! Then there's the economy-clear, By poetical algebra shown-If your wife has a grief or a fear, One half, by the law, is your own! They're nearly quadrupled, 'tis said, Then coffee and tea, both green and bohea, Is served to their tables in plate; The lass give me here, though brown as my beer, This is the girl, worth rubies and pearl; This is the wife that will make a man rich; UNKNOWN. Fugitive Poetry. (Warne.) THOUGH matches are all made in Heaven, they say, Yet Hymen (who mischief oft hatches) Sometimes deals with the house t'other side of the way, And there they make Lucifer matches. SAMUEL LOVER. Poetical Works. (Routledge.) MARRYING IN HASTE. (From "The Parish Register.") THESE are the happier pairs, their life has rest, Their hopes are strong, their humble portion blest, While those more rash to hasty marriage led, Lament th' impatience which now stints their bread; When such their union, years their cares increase, Their love grows colder, and their pleasures cease; In health just fed, in sickness just relieved; GEORGE CRABBE. LOVE in an attic, on dry bread to feed,- FOR now the world is grown so wary That few of either sex care marry. SAMUEL BUTLER. Hudibras. [AND] hence I courted Nobody, And said Nobody's I'd be, And asked to marry Nobody, And Nobody married me. Thus I trudge along with Nobody, And Nobody cheers my life, And I have a love for Nobody, Which nobody has for his wife. UNKNOWN. His genius and his prospects? Well; WALTER C. SMITH. II. THOUGHTS, FANCIES, AND HOMILIES. "But to conclude my silly rhyme, (I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time) To weans and wife, That's the true pathos and sublime ROBERT BUrns. A FAITHFUL maid, and then a loving wife, May give the poorest man the richest life. GUY ROSLYN. Village Verses. (Moxon and Co.) BUT oh, what pity 'tis to find Such beauties both of form and mind, MATTHEW GREEN. "DO YOU THINK HE IS MARRIED?" MADAM, you are very pressing, And I can't decline the task; With the slightest gift of guessing, You would scarcely need to ask! Don't you see a hint of marriage Or some wicked action done, Why should he be in a flurry? The most dignified of feet! It is but a trifle, maybe, But observe his practised tone When he calms your stormy baby, Just as if it were his own. Do you think a certain meekness You have mentioned in his looks Is a chronic optic weakness That has come of reading books? Did you ever see his vision Peering underneath a hood, When he glances, as he must, J. G. SAXE. |