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OF TEMPER.
95


For, as Sir Gilbert now, with choler dumb,
Points her the period with his angry thumb,
"Ah! brother," cries the stiff, malignant crone,
(Her sharp eye swiftly thro' the sentence thrown)
"Scandal could never rise to heights like this,
But from the manners of each modern Miss;
Had but my niece, less giddy and more grave,
Observ'd the prudent hints I often gave———"
The honest knight her vile conclusion saw,
And quick curtail'd it with a testy "Pshaw!"
Meanwhile the gentle maid, who heard the taunt,
Survey'd without a frown her prudish aunt:
Far other thoughts employed her softer mind,
To one sweet purpose all her soul inclin'd;
How she might close th' unpleasant scene, how best
Restore good humour to her father's breast.
Her airy guardian with delight survey'd
These tender wishes in the lovely maid,
And, to accomplish what her heart desir'd,
Trains of new thought above her age inspir'd.