A fallen Tree receiv’d her, and she wept,
Till Nature fainted and Sensation slept.—
“Arise, my Charmer, Mistress of my Heart;
Share in my Joy, and never will we part!
Thine old pretender has presum’d to try
Our right in Battle—we awhile must fly.
Come then, my Beauty; and to-morrow’s Sun,
That shews thee lovely, shall behold us one.” 250
Affrighted Susan heard th’ imperfect boast;
“And Joseph dead?”—“Disabled, love, at most.