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'Twas in the Indian seas his limb he lost,
And he was left half dead upon the coast;
But living gain'd, 'mid rich aspiring men,
A fair subsistence by his ready pen.

Thus," he continued, "pass'd unvaried years,
Without events producing hopes or fears.
Augmented pay procured him decent wealth,
But years advancing undermined his health;
Then oft-times in delightful dreams he flew
To England's shore, and scenes his childhood knew
He saw his parents, saw his favourite maid,
No feature wrinkled, not a charm decay'd;
And thus excited in his bosom rose

A wish so strong, it baffled his repose;
Anxious he felt on English earth to lie,
To view his native soil, and there to die.

He then described the gloom, the dread he
found,

When first he landed on the chosen ground,
Where undefined was all he hoped and fear'd,
And how confused and troubled all appear'd;
His thoughts in past and present scenes employ'd,
All views in future blighted and destroy'd ;
His were a medley of bewildering themes,
Sad as realities, and wild as dreams.

Here his relation closes, but his mind
Flies back again some resting place to find;
Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees
His children sporting by those lofty trees,
Their mother singing in the shady scene,

TALE III.

THE GENTLEMAN FARMER

.... Pause then,

And weigh thy value with an even hanu,
If thou beest rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough.

Merchant of Venice, act ii. sc. 7

Because I will not do them wrong to mistrust any, 1 will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is. (for which I may go the finer,) I will live a bachelor. Much Ado about Nothing, act i. sc. 3 Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it..

Macbeth, act v. sc. 3

His promises are, as he then was, mighty.
And his performance, as he now is, nothing.
Henry VIII. act iv. oc. 2.

GWYN was a farmer, whom the farmers all,
Who dwelt around, the Gentleman would cali;
Whether in pure humility or pride,

They only knew, and they would not decide.

Far different he from that dull plodding tribe,
Whom it was his amusement to describe;
Creatures no more enliven'd than a clod,
But treading still as their dull fathers trod ;
Who lived in times when not a man had seen
Corn sown by drill, or thresh'd by a machine:
He was of those whose skill assigns the prize

Where the fresh springs burst o'er the lively For creatures fed in pens, and stalls, and sties;

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Where are my children?"—Judith grieves to hear And talk with lords about a breed of sheep.

How the soul works in sorrows so severe;
Assiduous all his wishes to attend,
Deprived of much, he yet may boast a friend;
Watch'd by her care, in sleep, his spirit takes
Its flight, and watchful finds her when he wakes.
"Tis now her office; her attention see!
While her friend sleeps beneath that shading tree,
Careful she guards him from the glowing heat,
And pensive muses at her Allen's feet.

Two are the species in this genus known;
One, who is rich in his profession grown,
Who yearly finds his ample stores increase,
From fortune's favours and a favouring lease;
Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns ;
Who drinks his wine, and his disbursements scoras;
Who freely lives, and loves to show he can-
This is the farmer made the gentleman.

The second species from the world is sent,

And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those Tired with its strife, or with his wealth content

scenes

Of his best days, amid the vivid greens,
Fresh with unnumber'd rills, where every gale
Breathes the rich fragrance of the neighb'ring vale;
Smiles not his wife, and listen's as there comes
The night-bird's music from the thickening glooms?
And as he sits with all these treasures nigh,
Blaze not with fairy light the phosphor-fly,

In books and men beyond the former read,
To farming solely by a passion led,
Or by a fashion: curious in his land;
Now planning much, now changing what he

plann'd ;

Pleased by each trial, not by failures vex'd,
And ever certain to succeed the next;
Quick to resolve, and easy to persuade-

When like a sparkling gem it wheels illumined by? This is the gentleman, a farmer made.

This is the joy that now so plainly speaks
In the warm transient flushing of his cheeks;
For he is listening to the fancied noise
Of his own children, eager in their joys:
All this he feels, a dream's delusive bliss
Gives the expression, and the glow like this.
And now his Judith lays her knitting by,
These strong emotions in her friend to spy ;
For she can fully of their nature deem
But see! he breaks the long-protracted theme,
And wakes and cries-" My God! twas but
dream."

Gwyn was of these; he from the world withdrew
Early in life, his reasons known to few;
Some disappointment said, some pure good sense,
The love of land, the press of indolence;
His fortune known, and coming to retire,
If not a farmer, men had call'd him 'squire

Forty and five his years, no child or wife
Cross'd the still tenor of his chosen life;
Much land he purchased, planted far around,
And let some portions of superfluous ground

a To farmers near him, not displeased to say,
'My tenants," nor "our worthy landlord," they.

46

Fix'd in his farm, he soon display'd his skill in small-boned lambs, the horse-shoe, and the drill; From these he rose to themes of nobler kind, And show'd the riches of a fertile mind; To all around their visits he repaid, And thus his mansion and himself display'd. His rooms were stately, rather fine than neat, And guests politely call'd his house a seat; At much expense was each apartment graced, His taste was gorgeous, but it still was taste: In full festoons the crimson curtains fell, The sofas rose in bold elastic swell; Mirrors in gilded frames display'd the tints Of glowing carpets and of colour'd prints; The weary eye saw every object shine, And all was costly, fanciful, and fine.

As with his friends he pass'd the social hours, His generous spirit scorn'd to hide its powers; Powers unexpected, for his eye and air Gave no sure signs that eloquence was there; Oft he began with sudden fire and force, As loath to lose occasion for discourse; Some, 'tis observed, who feel a wish to speak, Will a due place for introduction seek; On to their purpose step by step they steal, And all their way, by certain signals, feel; Others plunge in at once, and never heed

If he pursues it, here and there it slides,
He would collect it, but it more divides;
This part and this he stops, but still in vain,
It slips aside, and breaks in parts again,
Till, after time and pains, and care and cost,
He finds his labour and his object lost.

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But most it grieves me,(friends alone are round, To see a man in priestly fetters bound: Guides to the soul, these friends of Heaven contrive Long as man lives, to keep his fears alive; Soon as an infant breathes, their rites begin; Who knows not sinning, must be freed from sin Who needs no bond, must yet engage in vows; Who has no judgment, must a creed espouse: Advanced in life, our boys are bound by rules Are catechised in churches, cloisters, schools, And train'd in thraldom to be fit for tools: The youth grown up, he now a partner needs, And lo! a priest, as soon as he succeeds. What man of sense can marriage rites approve! What man of spirit can be bound to love? Forced to be kind! compell'd to be sincere! Do chains and fetters make companions dear? Prisoners indeed we bind; but though the bond May keep them safe, it does not make them fond The ring, the vow, the witness, license, prayers, All parties know! made public all affairs!

Whose turn they take, whose purpose they im- Such forms men suffer, and from these they date

pede;

Resolved to shine, they hasten to begin,

Of ending thoughtless-and of these was Gwyn.
And thus he spake-

"It grieves me to the soul-
To see how man submits to man's control;
How overpower'd and shackled minds are led
In vulgar tracks, and to submission bred;
The coward never on himself relies,
But to an equal for assistance flies;
Man yields to custom as he bows to fate,
In all things ruled-mind, body, and estate;
In pain, in sickness, we for cure apply

To them we know not, and we know not why;
But that the creature has some jargon read,
And got some Scotchman's system in his head;
Some grave impostor, who will health ensure,
Long as your patience or your wealth endure;
But mark them well, the pale and sickly crew,
They have not health, and can they give it you?
These solemn cheats their various methods choose;
A system fires them, as a bard his muse:
Hence wordy wars arise; the learn'd divide,
And groaning patients curse each erring guide.
"Next, our affairs are govern'd, buy or sell,
Upon the deed the law must fix its spell;
Whether we hire or let, we must have still
The dubious aid of an attorney's skill;
They take a part in every man's affairs,
And in all business some concern is theirs ;
Because mankind in ways prescribed are found
Like flocks that follow on a beaten ground,
Each abject nature in the way proceeds,
That now to sheering, now to slaughter leads.
"Should you offend, though meaning no offence,
You have no safety in your innocence;
The statute broken then is placed in view,
And men must pay for crimes they never knew:
Who would by law regain his plunder'd store,
Would pick up fallen mercury from the floor;

A deed of love begun with all they hate : Absurd that none the beaten road should shun, But love to do what other dupes have done.

"Well, now your priest has made you one of

twain,

Look you for rest? Alas! you look in vain.
If sick, he comes; you cannot die in peace,
Till he attends to witness your release;
To vex your soul, and urge you to confess
The sins you feel, remember, or can guess :
Nay, when departed, to your grave he goes
But there indeed he hurts not your repose.

"Such are our burdens; part we must sustain,
But need not link new grievance to the chain
Yet men like idiots will their frames surround
With these vile shackles, nor confess they're bound:
In all that most confines them they confide,
Their slavery boast, and make their bonds their

pride;

E'en as the pressure galls them, they declare,
(Good souls!) how happy and how free they are!
As madmen, pointing round their wretched cells,
Cry, lo! the palace where our honour dwells.'
"Such is our state: but I resolve to live
By rules my reason and my feelings give;
No legal guards shall keep enthrall'd my mind,
No slaves command me, and no teachers blind.
"Tempted by sins, let me their strength defy
But have no second in a surplice by;
No bottle-holder, with officious aid,
To comfort conscience, weaken'd and afraid;
Then if I yield, my frailty is not known;
And, if I stand, the glory is my own.

When Truth and Reason are our friends, we

seem

Alive! awake!-the superstitious dream.

"O! then, fair Truth, for thee alone I seek, Friend to the wise, supporter of the weak: From thee we learn whate'er is right and just; Forms to despise, professions to distrust;

Creeds to reject, pretensions to deride,
And, following thee, to follow none beside."

יין

Such was the speech; it struck upon the ear
Like sudden thunder, none expect to hear.
He saw men's wonder with a manly pride,
And gravely smiled at guest electrified :
"A farmer this!" they said; "O! let him seek
That place where he may for his country speak;
On some great question to harangue for hours,
While speakers hearing, envy nobler powers!
Wisdom like this, as all things rich and rare,
Must he acquired with pains, and kept with care;
In books he sought it, which his friends might view,
When their kind host the guarding curtain drew.
There were historic works for graver hours,
And lighter verse, to spur the languid powers;
There metaphysics, logic there had place;
But of devotion not a single trace-
Save what is taught in Gibbon's florid page,
And other guides of this inquiring age;
There Hume appear'd, and near, a splendid book
Composed by Gay's good lord of Bolingbroke:
With these were mix'd the light, the free, the vain,
And from a corner peep'd the sage Tom Paine :
Here four neat volumes Chesterfield were named,
For manners much and easy morals famed;
With chaste Memoirs of Females, to be read
When deeper studies had confused the head.
Such his resources, treasures where he sought
For daily knowledge till his mind was fraught:
Then when his friends were present, for their use
He would the riches he had stored produce;
He found his lamp burn clearer, when each day
He drew for all he purposed to display:
For these occasions, torth his knowledge sprung,
As mustard quickens on a bed of dung;
All was prepared, and guests allow'd the praise,
For what they saw he could so quickly raise.
Such this new friend; and when the year came
round,

The same impressive, reasoning sage was found;
Then, too, was seen the pleasant mansion graced
With a fair damsel-his no vulgar taste;
The neat Rebecca-sly, observant, still,
Watching his eye, and waiting on his will;
Simple yet smart her dress, her manners meek,
Her smiles spoke for her, she would seldom speak;
But watch'd each look, each meaning to detect,
And (pleased with notice) felt for all neglect.
With her lived Gwyn a sweet harmonious life,
Who, forms excepted, was a charming wife :
The wives indeed, so made by vulgar law,
Affected scorn, and censured what they saw;
And what they saw not, fancied; said 'twas sin,
And took no notice of the wife of Gwyn:
But he despised their rudeness, and would prove
Theirs was compulsion and distrust, not love;
"Fools as they were! could they conceive that
rings

And parsons' blessings were substantial things ?"
They answered "Yes;" while he contemptuous
spoke

Of the low notions held by simple folk;
Yet, strange that anger in a man so wise
Should from the notions of these fools arise,

Can they so vex us, whom we so despise ?
Brave as he was, our hero felt a dread

If to his bosom fear a visit paid,

It was, lest he should be supposed afraid;
Hence sprang his orders; not that he desired
The things when done; obedience he required;
And thus, to prove his absolute command,
Ruled every heart, and moved each subject hand
Assent he ask'd for every word and whim,

To prove that he alone was king of him.

The still Rebecca, who her station knew,
With ease resign'd the honours not her due;
Well pleased, she saw that men her board would

grace,

And wish'd not there to see a female face;
When by her lover she his spouse was styled,
Polite she thought it, and demurely smiled;
But when he wanted wives and maidens round
So to regard her, she grew grave and frown'd:
And sometimes whisper'd, "Why should you respect
These people's notions, yet their forms reject?"

Gwyn, though from marriage bond and fetter free
Still felt abridgement in his liberty;
Something of hesitation he betray'd,
And in her presence thought of what he said.
Thus fair Rebecca, though she walk'd astray,
His creed rejecting, judged it right to pray
To be at church, to sit with serious looks,
To read her Bible and her Sunday books.
She hated all those new and daring themes,
And call'd his free conjectures, "devil's dreams :"
She honour'd still the priesthood in her fall,
And claim'd respect and reverence for them all ;
Call'd them "of sin's destructive power the foes,
And not such blockheads as he might suppose."
Gwyn to his friends would smile, and sometimes say
""Tis a kind fool, why vex her in her way?"
Her way she took, and stil had more in view,
For she contrived that he should take it too.
The daring freedom of his soul, 'twas plain,
In part was lost in a divided reign;

A king and queen, who yet in prudence swayed
Their peaceful state, and were in turn obey'd.

Yet such our fate, that when we plan the best,
Something arises to disturb our rest:
For though in spirits high, in body strong.
Gwyn something felt-he knew not what-
wrong;

He wish'd to know, for he believed the thing,
If unremoved, would other evil bring:
"She must perceive, of late he could not eat,
And when he walked, he trembled on his feet
He had forebodings, and he seem'd as one
Stopp'd on the road, or threaten'd by a dun;
He could not live, and yet, should he apply
To those physicians-he must sooner die."

The mild Rebecca heard with some disdain,
And some distress, her friend and lord complain
His death she fear'd not, but had painful doubt
What his distemper'd nerves might bring about.
With power like hers she dreaded an ally,
And yet there was a person in her eye;-
She thought, debated, fix'd; "Alas!" she said,
"A case like yours must be no more delay'd:
You hate these doctors, well! but were a friend
And doctor one, your fears would have an end.
My cousin Mollet-Scotland holds him now-
Is above all men skilful, all allow;
Of late a doctor, and within a while

Lest those who saw him kind should think him led; He means to settle in this favour'd isle ;

Should he attend you, with his skill profound,
You must be safe, and shortly would be sound.'
When men in health against physicians rail,
They should consider that their nerves may fail :
Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late,
On one of these depends his whole estate :
Nay, when the world can nothing more produce,
The priest, th' insulted priest, may have his use;
Ease, health, and comfort lift a man so high,
These powers are dwarfs that he can scarcely spy;
Pain, sickness, languor keep a man so low,
That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow.
Happy is he who through the medium sees
Of clear good sense-but Gwyn was not of these.
He heard, and he rejoiced: "Ah! let him come,
And till he fixes, make my house his home."
Home came the doctor-he was much admired;
He told the patient what his case required;
His hours for sleep, his time to eat and drink;
When he should ride, read, rest, compose, or think.
Thue join'd peculiar skill and art profound,
To make the fancy-sick no more than fancy-sound.
With such attention who could long be ill?
Returning health proclaim'd the doctor's skill. ̧
Presents and praises from a grateful heart
Were freely offered on the patient's part;
In high repute the doctor seem'd to stand,
But still had got no footing in the land;
And, as he saw the seat was rich and fair,
He felt disposed to fix his station there :
To gain his purpose he perform'd the part
Of a good actor, and prepared to start:
Not like a traveller in a day serene,

When the sun shone and when the roads were clean;
Not like the pilgrim, when the morning gray,
The ruddy eve succeeding, sends his way;
But in a season when the sharp east wind
Had all its influence on a nervous mind;
When past the parlour's front it fiercely blew,
And Gwyn sat pitying every bird that flew,
This strange physician said-" Adieu! adieu !
Farewell!—Heaven bless you!—if you should—

but no,

You need not fear-farewell! 'tis time to go."

The doctor spoke, and, as the patient heard, His old disorders (dreadful train !) appear'd; "He felt the tingling tremor, and the stress Upon his nerves that he could not express; Should his good friend forsake him, he perhaps Might meet his death, and surely a relapse." So, as the doctor seem'd intent to part, He cried in terror, "O! be where thou art: Come, thou art young, and unengaged; O! come, Make me thy friend, give comfort to mine home. I have now symptoms that require thine aid, Do, doctor, stay;"- th' obliging doctor stay'd.

Thus Gwyn was happy; he had now a friend, And a meek spouse on whom he could depend: But now possess'd of male and female guide, Divided power he thus must subdivide: In earlier days he rode, or sat at ease Reclined, and having but himself to please, Now if he would a favourite nag bestride, He sought permission: “Doctor, may I ride?' (Rebecca's eye her sovereign pleasure told,) "I think you may, but guarded from the cold, Ride forty minutes."-Free and happy soul! He scorn'd submission, and a man's control;

But where such friends in every care unite
All for his good, obedience is delight.

Now Gwyn a sultan bade affairs adieu,
Led and assisted by the faithful two;
The favourite fair, Rebecca, near him sat,
And whisper'd whom to love, assist, or hate,
While the chief vizier eased his lord of cares,
And bore himself the burden of affairs:
No dangers could from such alliance flow,
But from that law that changes all below.

When wintry winds with leaves bestrew'd the ground,

And men were coughing all the village round;
When public papers of invasion told,
Diseases, famines, perils new and old;
When philosophic writers fail'd to clear
The mind of gloom, and lighter works to cheer:
Then came fresh terrors on our hero's mind,
Fears unforeseen, and feelings undefined.

"In outward ills," he cried, "I rest assured
Of my friend's aid; they will in time be cured:
But can his art subdue, resist, control
These inward griefs and troubles of the soul?
O! my Rebecca! my disordered mind,
No help in study, none in thought can find;
What must I do, Rebecca ?" She proposed
The parish-guide; but what could be disclosed
To a proud priest?" No! him have I defied,
Insulted, slighted,-shall he be my guide?
But one there is, and if report be just,
A wise good man, whom I may safely trust:
Who goes from house to house, from ear to ear,
To make his truths, his gospel truths, appear;
True if indeed they be, 'tis time that I should hear
Send for that man, and if report be just,
I, like Cornelius, will the teacher trust;
But if deceiver, I the vile deceit
Shall soon discover, and discharge the cheat.".
To doctor Mollet was the grief confess'd,
While Gwyn the freedom of his mind express'd;
Yet own'd it was to ills and errors prone,
And he for guilt and frailty must atone.

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My books, perhaps," the wavering mortal cried, "Like men deceive; I would be satisfied; And to my soul the pious man may bring Comfort and light-do let me try the thing." The cousins met, what pass'd with Gwyn was told "Alas!" the doctor said, "how hard to hold These easy minds, where all impressions made At first sink deeply, and then quickly fade; For while so strong these new-born fancies reign, We must divert them, to oppose is vain : You see him valiant now, he scorns to here The bigot's threatenings, or the zealot's creed; Shook by a dream, he next for truth receives What frenzy teaches, and what fear believes; And this will place him in the power of one Whom we must seek, because we cannot shun.' Wisp had been ostler at a busy inn, Where he beheld and grew in dread of sin; Then to a Baptists' meeting found his way, Became a convert, and was taught to pray; Then preach'd; and being earnest and sincere. Brought other sinners to religious fear; Together grew his influence and his fame, Till our dejected hero heard his name: His little failings were, a grain of pride, Raised by the numbers he presumed to guide

A love of presents, and of lofty praise
For his meek spirit and his humble ways;
But though this spirit would on flattery feed,
No praise could blind him and no arts mislead :—
To him the doctor made the wishes known
Of his good patron, but conceal'd his own;
He of all teachers had distrust and doubt,
And was reserved in what he came about;
Though on a plain and simple message sent,
He had a secret and a bold intent:

Their minds, at first were deeply veil'd; disguise
Form'd the slow speech, and oped the eager eyes;
Till by degrees sufficient light was thrown
On every view, and all the business shown.
Wisp, as a skilful guide who led the blind,
Had powers to rule and awe the vapourish mind;
But not the changeful will, the wavering fear to
bind :

And should his conscience give him leave to dwell
With Gwyn, and every rival power expel,
(A dubious point,) yet he, with every care,
Might soon the lot of the rejected share;
And other Wisps he found like him to reign,
And then be thrown upon the world again.
He thought it prudent then, and felt it just,
The present guides of his new friend to trust;
True, he conceived, to touch the harder heart
Of the cool doctor, was beyond his art;
But mild Rebecca he could surely sway,
While Gwyn would follow where she led the
way:

So to do good, (and why a duty shun,
Because rewarded for the good when done?)
He with his friends would join in all they plann'd,
Save when his faith or feelings should withstand;
There he must rest, sole judge of his affairs,
While they might rule exclusively in theirs.

Thus sees a peasant with discernment nice.
A love of power, conceit, and avarice.

Lo! now the change complete: the convert

Gwyn

Has sold his books, and has renounced his sin;
Mollet his body orders, Wisp his soul,
And o'er his purse the lady takes control;
No friends beside he needs, and none attend-
Soul, body, and estate, has each a friend;
And fair Rebecca leads a virtuous life-
She rules a mistress, and she reigns a wife.

TALE IV.

PROCRASTINATION.

Heaven witness

I have been to you ever true and humble.

Henry VIII. act iv. sc. 4. Gentle lady,

When first I did impart my love to you,

I freely told you all the wealth I had.

Merchant of Venice, act iii. sc. 2.
The fatal time

Cuts off all ceremonies and vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse,
Which so long sunder'd friends should dwell upon.
Richard III. act v. sc. 3.

I know thee not, old man; fall to thy prayers.
Henry IV. Part 2, act v. sc. 5.
Farewell

Thou pure impiety, thou impious purity,
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love.

Much Ado about Nothing, act iv. sc. 2

LOVE will expire, the gay, the happy dream
Will turn to scorn, indifference, or esteem:
Some favour'd pairs, in this exchange are bless'd
Nor sigh for raptures in a state of rest;
Others, ill match'd, with minds unpair'd repent
At once the deed and know no more content;
From joy to anguish they, in haste, decline,
And with their fondness, their esteem resign:
More luckless still their fate, who are the prey
Of long protracted hope and dull delay;
'Mid plans of bliss the heavy hours pass on,

When Gwyn his message to the teacher sent,
He fear'd his friends would show their discontent;
And prudent seem'd it to th' attendant pair,
Not all at once to show an aspect fair:
On Wisp they seem'd to look with jealous eye,
And fair Rebecca was demure and shy;
But by degrees the teacher's worth they knew,
And were so kind, they seem'd converted too.
Wisp took occasion to the nymph to say,
"You must be married: will you name the day?"
She smiled," "Tis well; but should he not com-Till love is wither'd, and till joy is gone.
ply,

Is it quite safe th' experiment to try?”—

My child," the teacher said, “who feels remorse,
(And feels not he ?) must wish relief of course;
And can he find it, while he fears the crime?-
You must be married; will you name the time?"
Glad was the patron as a man could be,
Yet marvell'd too, to find his guides agree;
"But what the cause?" he cried; " 'tis genuine
love for me."

Each found his part, and let one act describe
The powers and honours of th' accordant tribe :-
A man for favour to the mansion speeds,
And cons his threefold task as he proceeds;
To teacher Wisp he bows with humble air,
And begs his interest for a barn's repair:
Then for the doctor he inquires, who loves
To hear applause for what his skill improves,
And gives for praise, assent,-and to the fair
He brings of pullets a delicious pair;

This gentle flame two youthful hearts possess'd,
The sweet disturber of unenvied rest:
The prudent Dinah was the maid beloved,
And the kind Rupert was the swain approved:
A wealthy aunt her gentle niece sustain'd,
He, with a father, at his desk remain'd;
The youthful couple, to their vows sincere,
Thus loved expectant; year succeding year,
With pleasant views and hopes, but not a prospect

near.

Rupert some comfort in his station saw,
But the poor virgin lived in dread and awe,
Upon her anxious looks the widow smiled,
And bade her wait," for she was yet a child."
She for her neighbour had a due respect,
Nor would his son encourage or reject;
And thus the pair, with expectations vain,
Beheld the seasons change, and change again:
Meantime the nymph her tender tales perused,
Where cruel aunts impatient girls refused;

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