Classic Poem

These Lines, dear Partner of my Life,
Come from a tender faithful Wife;
Happy, when you her Thoughts approve,
Supremely happy in your Love:
O may the blissful Flame endure!
Uninjured, lasting, bright, and pure.
Thus far in Verse, but can the Muse
Descend so low as telling News?
Or can I easily in Rhyme
Inform you how I pass my Time?

To soothe my Woe, and banish Care,
I to the Theatre repair,
Where, charm'd with Shakespear's lofty Scenes,
And pure inimitable Strains,
My Rapture rais'd so high appears,
It seeks to hide itself in Tears.

On Tuesday last all Day I stay'd
In Delvile's sweet inspiring Shade;
There all was easy, gay, polite,
The Weather and the Guests were bright:
My lov'd Constantia there appear'd,
And Southern long for Wit rever'd,
Who like the hoary Pylian Sage,
Excels in Wisdom, as in Age.
'Tis thus your Absence I beguile,
And try to make Misfortune smile;
But never can my constant Mind
A real Pleasure hope or find,
'Till Heav'n indulgently once more
My Colin to my Eyes restore.

P. S.

Permit me here, e'er I conclude,
To pay a Debt of Gratitude,
To Worsdale , your ingenious Friend,
My Praises and my Thanks commend;
Yet all are far beneath his Due,
Who sends me what resembles you.