But spare your sister, and her love conceal;
We must the fault forgive, since she the pain must feel.”
“Fault!” said the ’Squire, “there’s coarseness in the mind
That thus conceives of feelings so refined;
Here end my doubts, nor blame yourself, my friend,
Fate made you careless - here my doubts have end.”
The way is plain before us - there is now
The Lover’s visit first, and then the vow,
Mutual and fond, the marriage-rite, the Bride
Brought to her home with all a husband’s pride: