Her debts would overwhelm her, that was sure, But one privation would she not endure. 190 “We shall want bread! the thing is past a doubt.”— “Then part with Cousins!”—“Can I do without?”— “Dismiss your servants!”—“Spare me them, I pray!”- “At least your carriage!”—“What will people say?”— “That useless boat, that folly on the lake!”— “O! but what cry and scandal will it make!” It was so hard on her, who not a thing Had done such mischief on their heads to bring; This was her comfort, this she would declare; And then slept soundly on her pillow’d chair. 200 When not asleep, how restless was the soul Above advice, exempted from control; For ever begging all to be sincere, And never willing any truth to hear. A yellow paleness o’er her visage spread; Her fears augmented as her comforts fled; Views dark and dismal to her mind appear’d; And death she sometimes woo’d, and always fear’d. Among the clerks there was a thoughtful one, Who still believed that something might be done; 210 All in his view was not so sunk and lost, But of a trial things would pay the cost. He judged the widow, and he saw the way In which her husband suffer’d her to stray; He saw entangled and perplex’d affairs, And Time’s sure hand at work on their repairs; Children he saw; but nothing could he see, Why he might not their careful father be; And, looking keenly round him, he believed That what was lost might quickly be retrieved. 220 Now thought our clerk—“I must not mention love: That she at least must seem to disapprove; But I must fear of poverty enforce, And then consent will be a thing of course.” “Madam!” said he, “with sorrow I relate, That our affairs are in a dreadful state; I call’d on all our friends, and they declared They dared not meddle—not a creature dared; But still our perseverance chance may aid, And, though I’m puzzled, I am not afraid; 230 If you, dear lady, will attention give To me, the credit of the house shall live; Do not, I pray you, my proposal blame; It is my wish to guard your husband’s fame, And ease your trouble: then, your cares resign To my discretion—and, in short, be mine.”— “Yours! O! my stars!—Your goodness, sir, deserves My grateful thanks—take pity on my nerves; I shake and tremble at a thing so new, And fear ’tis what a lady should not do; 240 And then to marry upon ruin’s brink In all this hurry—What will people think?”— “Nay, there’s against us neither rule nor law, And people’s thinking is not worth a straw. Those who are prudent have too much to do With their own cares to think of me and you; And those who are not are so poor a race, That what they utter can be no disgrace.— Come! let us now embark; when time and tide Invite to sea, in happy hour decide; 250 If yet we linger, both are sure to fail, The turning waters and the varying gale.