We wept together, till we sank to rest. You own’d your love—— _D._ A girl, a chit, a child! Am I for this, and by a friend, reviled? _C._ Then lay your hand, fair creature! on your heart, And say how many there have had a part! Six I remember; and, if Fame be true, The handsome Serjeant had his portion too. _D._ A Serjeant! Madam, if I might advise, Do use some small discretion in such lies! A Serjeant, Celia?—— _C._ Handsome, smart, and clean. 70 Yes! and the fellow had a noble mien, That might excuse you, had you giv’n your hand— But this your father could not understand. _D._ Mercy! how pert and flippant are you grown, As if you’d not a secret of your own! Yet would you tremble, should your Sailor know What I, or my small cabinet, could show: He might suspect a heart with many a wound, Shallow and deep, could never more be sound; That of one pierced so oft, so largely bled, 80} The feeling ceases, and the love is dead; } But sense exists, and passion serves instead. } _C._ Injurious Delia! cold, reproachful maid! Is thus my confidential faith repaid? Is this the counsel that we two have held, When duty trembled, and desire rebell’d; The sister-vows we made, through many a night, To aid each other in the arduous fight With the harsh-minded powers who never think What nature needs, nor will at weakness wink? 90 And now, thou cruel girl! is all forgot, } The wish oft whisper’d, the imagined lot, } The secret Hymen, the sequester’d cot? } And will you thus our bond of friendship rend, And join the world in censure of your friend? Oh! ’tis not right! as all with scorn must see, Although the certain mischief falls on me. _D._ Nay, never weep! but let this kiss restore And make our friendship perfect as before; Do not our wiser selves ourselves condemn, 100 And yet we dearly love their faults and them? So our reproofs to tender minds are shown: We treat their wanderings as we treat our own; We are each other’s conscience, and we tell Our friend her fault, because we wish her well; We judge, nay prejudge, what may be her case, Fore-arm the soul, and shield her from disgrace. Creatures in prison, ere the trying day, Their answers practise, and their powers essay. By means like these they guard against surprise, 110 And all the puzzling questions that may rise. “Guilty or not?” His lawyer thus address’d A wealthy rogue—“Not guilty, I protest.”— “Why, then, my friend, we’ve nothing here to say, But you’re in danger! prithee heed your way! _You_ know your truth, _I_ where your error lies: From your ‘_Not_ guilty’ will your danger rise.”— “Oh! but I _am_, and I have here the gain Of wicked craft”—“Then let it _here_ remain; For we must guard it by a sure defence, 120 And not professions of your innocence;