Last week, we left Henry declaring his interest to Maria. But she hesitates.
Her sweet joy with soft confusion veils,
Miss gently checks her swain’s romantic tales.
She’s sure mama will think these raptures wild
She knows not how to act, she’s quite a child
With sighs and vows persists the wounded swain,
Begs she’ll recall those words, and think again,
Fearful of frowns or veto from mamma,
The softening nymph refers him to papa.
Joy in his lips and rapture on his tongue,
On neat red tape his various parchments strung,
See Henry bears the mystic circlet high,
Which bids hope’s tide flow strong, his terrors fly.
At church arrived on some unlucky day,
Poor Maria faulters out the word obey.
Thus of Loves Ladder gained the topmost place,
Her downward course the sorrowing muse must trace
Her Honeymoon and raptures fled together,
Behold a rural walk in dirty weather,
The stile is slippery but in vain the dame
Sues for that aid which once unasked for came.
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In transcribing the text, I have kept to the original with its varied spellings etc.