THERE's not a period of man's life
That does not require more thought,
Than when he wishes in his heart,
In Wedlock to be brought.

To chuse a Partner for one's life,
And be united close,
Makes future happiness depend,
Or mis'ry, which is worse:

Yet, with what thoughtlessness we see
Men haste to celebrate
The Nuptials, which perhaps may doom
Their sorrow and and disqui't?

Marriage was institute by Him
Who made the Universe,
The greatest blessing human life
Could on this earth possess;

But Oh! Alas! how frequently
This blessing is revers'd,
By follies that most men commit,
By which they're sore distress'd!

Were men to act more prudently,
And walk more circumspect,
In matters of importance great,
And on their ways reflect;

So often they would not complain
Of disappointments great;
Domestic disputes ne'er would rise,
Could they but one way think.

Contention, sure can never miss
To give them days of pain:
Their midnight slumber's much disturb'd
By thought that's not serene.

Sure Heav'n's design was nothing less,
If sacred truths you'll read,
Than man to have a bosom friend,
When in conjunction wed:

To whom he might, in confidence,
His secrets most impart;
Yea, each to other should display
Sensations of the heart.

In company, they sweets enjoy,
In conversations bright;
Conjenial sentiments they'll speak,
Of feelings which delight.

Mankind, in their select pursuit,
Are too apt to prefer
External beauty, or ev'n wealth,
To what surmounteth far:

The permanent accomplishments;
Of virtue and good sense,
Do far exceed beauty and wealth,
Though few this truth defends.

Were beauty, virtue, and good sense,
All complicate together,
With mod'rate share of worldly wealth,
They'd make a lasting pleasure.

Experience ev'ry day may teach,
That beauty does live short;
The happiness it does produce
Is a delusive sort.

The passion soon is satiate
With personable charms,
Where mental intelects do not
Join close with beauty's flames.

Grandeur and beauty only serve
Anxiety to gild,
Which at some time may bring disgust,
That cannot be conceal'd.

How many are there on this earth,
Their marr'age who repent?
What they do wish, they wish in vain,
There's nought but death can men' 't.

Let others seek for pomp and state,
And honour, to gratify,
They'll see their folly, though too late,
That all's vanity!

The feast of reason me shall feed,
With a full flow of soul;
And if kind Fate shall lead the way,
I ne'er shall have control!


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