“Ah!” quoth our village Grocer, rich and old,
“Would I might one such cause for care behold!”
To whom his Friend, “Mine greater bliss would be,
Would Heav’n take those my spouse assigns to me.”
Aged were both, that Dawkins, Ditchem this,
Who much of marriage thought, and much amiss;
Both would delay, the one, till - riches gain’d,
The son he wish’d might be to honour train’d;
His Friend - lest fierce intruding heirs should come,
To waste his hoard and vex his quiet home.