'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth,
From a bosom effectually warm'd
With the talents, the graces, and worth,
Of the person for whom it was form'd.
Maria would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all;
But less to our grief could we view
Catharina the queen of the Hall.
And therefore I wish'd as I did,
And therefore this union of hands,
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry amen to the bands.
Since therefore I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain,
When making good wishes for her,
I will e'en to my wishes again.
With one I have made her a wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my life,
How soon I can make her a mother.
TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.
Weston, July 4, 1792.
I know not how you proceed in your life of Milton, but I suppose not very rapidly, for while you were here, and since you left us, you have had no other theme but me. As for myself, except my letters to you, and the nuptial song I inserted in my last, I have literally done nothing since I saw you. Nothing, I mean, in the writing way, though a great deal in another; that is to say, in attending my poor Mary, and endeavouring to nurse her up for a journey to Eartham. In this I have hitherto succeeded tolerably well, and had rather carry this point completely than be the most famous editor of Milton that the world has ever seen or shall see.
Your humorous descant upon my art of wishing made us merry, and consequently did good to us both. I sent my wish to the Hall yesterday. They are excellent neighbours, and so friendly to me that I wished to gratify them. When I went to pay my first visit, George flew into the court to meet me, and when I entered the parlour Catharina sprang into my arms.
W. C.