Page:Improbability, or, The batchelor's dislike to a married life.pdf/5

[5] The ſcene of grief no tongue can tell,

When ſhe was led unto the cell.

With aching heart ſhe now does lie,

Until the day that ſhe muſt die,

When dreſt in white from top to toe,

To meet her fate this maid will go.

So maidens now take warning all,

Reflect upon her wretched fall,

And when you hear the dead bell tole,

Fall on your knees, pray for her ſoul.

O! may her death atonement make,

Chriſt her precious ſoul then take,

Arm her to meet the fatal blow,

When ſhe doth ſink to ſhades below.



are

Welve months are paſt, ſince on this ſtrand,

in ſad diſtreſs we parted,

And as the boat forſook the land,

the oar my hand deſerted.

My eyes on yours were fondly bent,

and ſeem'd their tears to borrow,

And ſure from you a look was ſent,

that well repaid the ſorrow.

To bear me quickly from the ſhore,

the crew, our grief ſurveying,

With lengthen'd ſtroke ſtill kept the oar,

in well tim'd meaſure playing.