The good folks saw the change, and griev'd to find
These troubles labouring in Phoebe's mind;
They lov'd them both; and with one voice propos'd
The only means whence Truth might be disclos'd;
That, when the Summer Months should shrink the rill,
And scarce its languid stream would turn the Mill,
When the Spring broods, and Pigs, and Lambs were rear'd,
( A time when George and Phoebe might be spar'd,)
Their birth-place they should visit once again,
To try with joint endeavours to obtain
From Record, or Tradition, what might be
To chain, or set their chain'd affections free:
Affinity beyond all doubts to prove;
Or clear the road for Nature and for Love.
Never, till now, did PHOEBE count the hours,
Or think May long, or wish away its flowers;
With mutual sighs both fann'd the wings of Time;
As we climb Hills and gladden as we climb,