(That she might scorn him was he fain, To put her sooner out of pain; For incensed love breathes quick and dies, When famished love a-lingering lies.) Once done, his soul was so betossed, It found no more the force it lost: Hope was his only drink and food, And hope extinct, decay ensued. And, living long so closely penned, He had not kept a single friend; He dwindled thin as phantoms be, And drooped to death in poverty . . . Meantime his schoolmate had gone out To join the fortune-finding rout; He liked the winnings of the mart, But wearied of the working part. He turned to seek a privy lair, Neglecting note of garb and hair, And day by day reclined and thought How he might live by doing nought. “I plan a valued scheme,” he said To some. “But lend me of your bread, And when the vast result looms nigh, In profit you shall stand as I.” Yet they took counsel to restrain Their kindness till they saw the gain; And, since his substance now had run, He rose to do what might be done. He went unto his Love by night, And said: “My Love, I faint in fight: Deserving as thou dost a crown, My cares shall never drag thee down.” (He had descried a maid whose line Would hand her on much corn and wine, And held her far in worth above One who could only pray and love.) But this Fair read him; whence he failed To do the deed so blithely hailed; He saw his projects wholly marred, And gloom and want oppressed him hard; Till, living to so mean an end, Whereby he’d lost his every friend, He perished in a pauper sty, His mate the dying pauper nigh. And moralists, reflecting, said, As “dust to dust” in burial read Was echoed from each coffin-lid, “These men were like in all they did.” 1866. LINES _Spoken by Miss_ ADA REHAN _at the Lyceum Theatre_, _July_ 23, 1890, _at a performance on behalf of Lady Jeune’s Holiday Fund for City Children_. BEFORE we part to alien thoughts and aims, Permit the one brief word the occasion claims: —When mumming and grave projects are allied, Perhaps an Epilogue is justified. Our under-purpose has, in truth, to-day Commanded most our musings; least the play: A purpose futile but for your good-will Swiftly responsive to the cry of ill: A purpose all too limited!—to aid Frail human flowerets, sicklied by the shade, In winning some short spell of upland breeze, Or strengthening sunlight on the level leas.