That keep them useless, and yet make them vain?"
This luckless Damsel look'd the village round,
To find a friend, and one was quickly found:
A pensive Widow, whose mild air and dress
Pleased the sad nymph, who wish'd her soul's distress
To one so seeming kind, confiding, to confess.
"What Lady that?" the anxious lass inquired,
Who then beheld the one she most admired:
"Here," said the Brother, "are no ladies seen -
That is a widow dwelling on the Green;
A dainty dame, who can but barely live
On her poor pittance, yet contrives to give;
She happier days has known, but seems at ease,
And you may call her lady if you please:
But if you wish, good sister, to improve,
You shall see twenty better worth your love."
These Nancy met; but, spite of all they taught,
This useless Widow was the one she sought:
The father growl'd; but said he knew no harm
In such connexion that could give alarm;
"And if we thwart the trifler in her course,
'Tis odds against us she will take a worse."
Then met the friends; the Widow heard the sigh
That ask'd at once compassion and reply: -
"Would you, my child, converse with one so poor,
Yours were the kindness--yonder is my door:
And, save the time that we in public pray,
From that poor cottage I but rarely stray."
There went the nymph, and made her strong complaints,
Painting her woe as injured feeling paints.