MARY LEAPOR

1722-1746

Welcome, dear wanderer, once more!

Thrice welcome to thy native cell!

Within this peaceful humble door

Let thou and I contented dwell!

But say, O whither hast thou rang’d?

Why dost thou blush a crimson hue?

Thy fair complexion’s greatly chang’d:

Why, I can scarce believe ’tis you.

Then tell, my son, O tell me, where

Didst thou contract this sottish dye?

You kept ill company, I fear,

When distant from your parent’s eye.

Was it for this, O graceless child,

Was it for this you learn’d to spell?

Thy face and credit both are spoil’d;

Go drown thyself in yonder well.

I wonder how thy time was spent:

No news (alas!) hast thou to bring?

Hast thou not climb’d the Monument?

Nor seen the lions, nor the King?

But now I’ll keep you here secure:

No more you view the smoaky sky:

The court was never made (I’m sure)

For idiots, like thee and I.

If trifling Hope has any room to plead,

’Tis that where Nature’s simple dictates lead:

So the wet hind, who travels o’er the plain

Through the cold mire and the afflicting rain;

Tho’ his low roofs with trickling showers run,

May hope next morn to see the chearful sun:

Or when keen hunger at the evening tide

Drives home the shepherd to his rustick bride,

His honest reason haply might not stray,

Tho’ he should dream of dumpling all the way.

Of all companions I would choose to shun

Such, whose blunt truths are like a bursting gun.