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W. Green. Oh, bond of destiny!--Fair bond, that seal'st
My fate in happiness! I'll read thee yet
Again--although thou'rt written on my heart.
But here his hand, indicting thee, did lie!
And this the tracing of his fingers! So
I read thee that could rhyme thee, as my prayers!
"At morn to-morrow I will make you mine.
Will you accept from me the name of wife -
The name of husband give me in exchange?"
The traitress! to break ope my billet-doux,
And take the envelope!--But I forgive her,
Since she did leave the rich contents behind.
Amelia, give this feather more a slope,
That it sit droopingly. I would look all
Dissolvement, nought about me to bespeak
Boldness! I would appear a timid bride,
Trembling upon the verge of wifehood, as
I ne'er before had stood there! That will do.
Oh dear!--How I am agitated--don't
I look so? I have found a secret out, -
Nothing in woman strikes a man so much
As to look interesting! Hang this cheek
Of mine! It is too saucy; what a pity
To have a colour of one's own!--Amelia!
Could you contrive, dear girl, to bleach my cheek,
How I would thank you! I could give it then
What tint I chose, and that should be the hectic
Bespeaks a heart in delicate commotion.
I am much too florid! Stick a rose in my hair,
The brightest you can find, 'twill help, my girl,
Subdue my rebel colour--Nay, the rose
Doth lose complexion, not my cheek! Exchange it
For a carnation.
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