But, my dear sir, you have no time to lose.’ “Say, is he poor? or has he fits of spleen? Or is he melancholy, moped, or mean? So cold, so distant——I bestow’d some pains Upon the fever in my Irish veins.”— “Well, Richard, let your native wrath be tamed; 40 The man has half the evils you have named: He is not poor, indeed, nor is he free From all the gloom and care of poverty.”— “But is he married?”—“Hush! the bell, my friend; That business done, we will to this attend; And, o’er our wine engaged, and at our ease, We may discourse of Belwood’s miseries; Not that his sufferings please me—No, indeed; But I from such am happy to be freed.” Their speech, of course, to this misfortune led 50 A weak young man improvidently wed. “Weak,” answer’d Richard; “but we do him wrong To say that his affection was not strong.” “That we may doubt,” said George; “in men so weak You may in vain the strong affections seek; They have strong appetites; a fool will eat As long as food is to his palate sweet; His rule is not what sober nature needs, But what the palate covets as he feeds; He has the passions, anger, envy, fear, 60 As storm is angry, and as frost severe; Uncheck’d, he still retains what nature gave, And has what creatures of the forest have. “Weak boys, indulged by parents just as weak, Will with much force of their affection speak; But let mamma th’ accustom’d sweets withhold, And the fond boys grow insolent and cold. “Weak men profess to love, and while untried May woo with warmth, and grieve to be denied; But this is selfish ardour—all the zeal 70 Of their pursuit is from the wish they feel For self indulgence—When do they deny } Themselves? and when the favourite object fly? } Or, for that object’s sake, with her requests comply? } Their sickly love is fed with hopes of joy, Repulses damp it, and delays destroy; Love, that to virtuous acts will some excite, In others but provokes an appetite. In better minds, when love possession takes And meets with peril, he the reason shakes; 80 But these weak natures, when they love profess, Never regard their small concerns the less. “That true and genuine love has Quixote-flights May be allow’d—in vision it delights; But, in its loftiest flight, its wildest dream Has something in it that commands esteem. But this poor love to no such region soars, But, Sancho-like, its selfish loss deplores; Of its own merit and its service speaks, And full reward for all its duty seeks.”— 90 “When a rich boy, with all the pride of youth, Weds a poor beauty, will you doubt his truth? Such love is tried—it indiscreet may be, But must be generous”— “That I do not see. Just at this time the balance of the mind Is this or that way by the weights inclined; In this scale beauty, wealth in that abides,