The Expostulation.

‘ What ails thee, Jane?’ the wary Matron cried;

With heaving breast the modest Maid reply'd,

Now gently moving back her wooden Chair

To shun the current of the cooling air;

‘ Not much, good Dame; I'm weary by the way;

‘ Perhaps, anon, I've something else to say.’

Now, while the Seed-cake crumbled on her knee,

And Snowy Jasmine peeped in to see;

And the transparent Lilac at the door,

Full to the Sun its purple honors bore,

The clam'rous Hen her fearless brood display'd,

And march'd around; while thus the Matron said:

‘ Jane has been weeping, Walter;— prithee why?

‘ I've seen her laugh, and dance, but never cry.

‘ But I can guess; with her you should have been,

‘ When late I saw you loit'ring on the green;

‘ I'm an old Woman, and the truth may tell:

I say then, Boy, you have not us'd her well.’