Nor was too quickly kind, too slowly coy;
But still she lent an unreluctant ear
To all the rural business of the year;
Till love’s strong hopes endured no more delay,
And Harry ask’d, and Nancy named the day.
“A happy change! my Boy,” the father cried:
“How lost your sister all her school-day pride?”
The Youth replied, “It is the Widow’s deed;
The cure is perfect and was wrought with speed.
And comes there, Boy, this benefit of books,