In the vain ramblings of a vulgar taste; And will be happy to exert her power, In every eye, in thine, at every hour. Then wilt thou bluster--"No! I will not rest, And see consumed each shilling of my chest:" Thou wilt be valiant--"When thy cousins call, I will abuse and shut my door on all:" Thou wilt be cruel!--"What the law allows, That be thy portion, my ungrateful spouse! Nor other shillings shalt thou then receive; And when I die--What! may I this believe? Are these true tender tears? and does my Kitty grieve? Ah! crafty vixen, thine old man has fears; But weep no more! I'm melted by thy tears; Spare but my money; thou shalt rule ME still, And see thy cousins: --there! I burn the will." Thus, with example sad, our year began, A wanton vixen and a weary man; But had this tale in other guise been told, Young let the lover be, the lady old, And that disparity of years shall prove No bane of peace, although some bar to love: 'Tis not the worst, our nuptial ties among, That joins the ancient bride and bridegroom young; - Young wives, like changing winds, their power display By shifting points and varying day by day; Now zephyrs mild, now whirlwinds in their force, They sometimes speed, but often thwart our course; And much experienced should that pilot be, Who sails with them on life's tempestuous sea. But like a trade-wind is the ancient dame, Mild to your wish and every day the same; Steady as time, no sudden squalls you fear, But set full sail and with assurance steer; Till every danger in your way be past, And then she gently, mildly breathes her last; Rich you arrive, in port awhile remain, And for a second venture sail again. For this, blithe Donald southward made his way, And left the lasses on the banks of Tay; Him to a neighbouring garden fortune sent, Whom we beheld, aspiringly content: Patient and mild he sought the dame to please, Who ruled the kitchen and who bore the keys. Fair Lucy first, the laundry's grace and pride, With smiles and gracious looks, her fortune tried; But all in vain she praised his "pawky eyne," Where never fondness was for Lucy seen: Him the mild Susan, boast of dairies, loved, And found him civil, cautious, and unmoved: From many a fragrant simple, Catherine's skill Drew oil and essence from the boiling still; But not her warmth, nor all her winning ways, From his cool phlegm could Donald's spirit raise: Of beauty heedless, with the merry mute, To Mistress Dobson he preferr'd his suit; There proved his service, there address'd his vows, And saw her mistress,--friend,--protectress,--spouse; A butler now, he thanks his powerful bride, And, like her keys, keeps constant at her side. Next at our altar stood a luckless pair, Brought by strong passions and a warrant there; By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the bride, From every eye, what all perceived, to hide, While the boy-bridegroom, shuffling in his pace, Now hid awhile and then exposed his face; As shame alternately with anger strove,