The Expostulation.

'What ails thee, Jane?' the wary Matron cried; With heaving breast the modest Maid reply'd, Now gently moving back her wooden Chair To shun the current of the cooling air; 'Not much, good Dame; I'm weary by the way; 'Perhaps, anon, I've something else to say.' Now, while the Seed-cake crumbled on her knee, And Snowy Jasmine peeped in to see; And the transparent Lilac at the door, Full to the Sun its purple honors bore, The clam'rous Hen her fearless brood display'd, And march'd around; while thus the Matron said: 'Jane has been weeping, Walter;—prithee why? 'I've seen her laugh, and dance, but never cry. 'But I can guess; with her you should have been, 'When late I saw you loit'ring on the green; 'I'm an old Woman, and the truth may tell: I say then, Boy, you have not us'd her well.'