TALE VII. THE WIDOW'S TALE. Ah me! for aught that I could ever read, Or ever hear by tale or history, The course of true Love never did run smooth; But either it was different in blood, Or else misgrafted in respect of years, Midsummer Night's Dream, Act I. Scene 1. Oh! thou didst then ne'er love so heartily, As You Like It, Act II. Scene 4. Cry the man mercy; love him, take his offer. As You Like It, Act III. Scene 5. TALE VII. THE WIDOW'S TALE. To Farmer Moss in Langar Vale, came down Us'd to spare meals, dispos'd in manner pure, Her father's kitchen she could ill endure; Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat, And laid at once a pound upon his plate; Hot from the field, her eager brother seiz'd An equal part, and hunger's rage appeas'd; The air surcharg'd with moisture, flagg'd around, And the offended Damsel sigh'd and frown'd; The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid, And fancy's sickness seiz'd the loathing Maid; But when the men beside their station took, The maidens with them, and with these the cook; With bacon, mass saline, where never lean She now entreated, by herself to sit No!' said the Farmer, in an angry tone; • These are your school-taught airs; your mother's pride • Would send you there; but I am now your guide.— Arise betimes, our early meal prepare, And this dispatch'd, let business be your care; 'At leisure times attend the wheel, and see The whit'ning web be sprinkled on the Lea; When thus employ'd, should our young neighbour 'view 'An useful lass-you may have more to do.' Dreadful were these commands; but worse than these The parting hint-a Farmer could not please: 'Tis true she had without abhorrence seen Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean; A slave! a drudge!-she could not, for her life. With swimming eyes the fretful nymph withdrew, Harry, a youth whose late-departed Sire Of household cares, for what can beauty earn By those small arts which they at school attain, That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?" |