She loved the value of her bonds to tell, And spake of stocks, and how they rose and fell. This passion grew, and gain’d at length such sway, 100 That other passions shrank to make it way; Romantic notions now the heart forsook, She read but seldom, and she changed her book; And for the verses she was wont to send, Short was her prose, and she was Rupert’s friend. Seldom she wrote, and then the widow’s cough, And constant call, excused her breaking off; Who now, oppress’d, no longer took the air, But sate and dozed upon an easy chair. The cautious doctor saw the case was clear, 110 But judged it best to have companions near; They came, they reason’d, they prescribed--at last, Like honest men, they said their hopes were past; Then came a priest--’tis comfort to reflect, When all is over, there was no neglect; And all was over--by her husband’s bones, The widow rests beneath the sculptured stones, That yet record their fondness and their fame, While all they left the virgin’s care became: Stock, bonds, and buildings;--it disturb’d her rest, 120 To think what load of troubles she possess’d. Yet, if a trouble, she resolved to take Th’ important duty, for the donor’s sake; She too was heiress to the widow’s taste, Her love of hoarding, and her dread of waste. Sometimes the past would on her mind intrude, And then a conflict full of care ensued; The thoughts of Rupert on her mind would press, His worth she knew, but doubted his success; Of old she saw him heedless; what the boy 130 Forbore to save, the man would not enjoy; Oft had he lost the chance that care would seize, Willing to live, but more to live at ease; Yet could she not a broken vow defend, And Heav’n, perhaps, might yet enrich her friend. Month after month was pass’d, and all were spent In quiet comfort and in rich content: Miseries there were, and woes the world around, But these had not her pleasant dwelling found; She knew that mothers grieved, and widows wept, 140 And she was sorry, said her prayers, and slept. Thus pass’d the seasons, and to Dinah’s board Gave what the seasons to the rich afford; For she indulged, nor was her heart so small, That one strong passion should engross it all. A love of splendour now with av’rice strove, And oft appear’d to be the stronger love; A secret pleasure fill’d the widow’s breast, When she reflected on the hoards possess’d; But livelier joy inspired th’ ambitious maid, 150 When she the purchase of those hoards display’d. In small but splendid room she loved to see That all was placed in view and harmony; There, as with eager glance she look’d around, She much delight in every object found; While books devout were near her--to destroy,