The Dernier Resort. a Familiar Epistle

No! no! by all the powers above, My heart's as little touch'd by love, As ever in my life: Full well, dear Hal, to thee is known, Whom Fortune to my lot has thrown, To be my wedded wife.

But why I wed, should any ask; To answer, is an easy task— Want! Want! my honest Harry: What can a man, whose fortune's spent, Who has mortgag'd to his utmost rent, But drown, or shoot or marry?

Of these, the best is, sure, the bride: For when one's plung'd beneath the tide, Adieu to all our figure! Full sudden is the pistol's fate; When once 'tis touch'd, alas! too late, We wish undrawn the trigger.

'Tis thus resolv'd, then, honest boy! To-morrow, thou may'st wish me joy; Joy will I buy by wiving: Soon to her mansion, far from town, Six rapid bays shall whirl us down, As if the de'el were driving.

There shall the brisk, capacious bowl, Drown every care that haunts the soul, And rouze me to a new life: And, ha! for all that she can say, Some blooming village queen of May Shall—wait upon my true wife.

When all the tedious farce is o'er, And spouse has crown'd me with her dow'r; Should sudden ruin meet her— E'en tho' her coachman broke her neck, Unmov'd I'd stand, amidst the wreck, Nor swear at heedless Peter.