reputation,
as my niceness; and offer not at an answer;--only say, you forgive me:
And I hope I have not one discomposing thing to say to my dearest, for
the rest of my life; which I pray God, for both our sakes, to lengthen
for many happy years.

Grief still choaked up the passage of my words; and he said, The shower
is over, my dear: let us walk out again.--He led me out, and I would
have spoken; but he said, I will not hear my dear creature say any
thing! To hearken to your assurance of complying with my request, would
look as if I doubted you, and wanted it. I am confident I needed only
to speak my mind, to be observed by you; and I shall never more think on
the subject, if you don't remind me of it. He then most sweetly changed
the discourse.

Don't you with pleasure, my dear, said he, take in the delightful
fragrance that this sweet shower has given to these banks of flowers?
Your presence is so enlivening to me, that I could almost fancy, that
what we owe to the shower, is owing to that: And all nature, methinks,
blooms around me when I have my Pamela by my side. You are a poetess,
my dear; and I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an
occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion,
and the fresh verdure, that, after a shower, succeeding a long drought,
shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature. And then, in a sweet and
easy accent, (with his dear arms about me as we walked,) he sung me the
following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:

I.

All nature blooms when you appear;
The fields their richest liv'ries wear;
Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view,
Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew.
The varying seasons you supply;
And, when you're gone, they fade and die.

II.

Sweet Philomel, in mournful strains,
To you appeals, to you complains.
The tow'ring lark, on rising wing,
Warbles to you, your praise does sing;
He cuts the yielding air, and flies
To heav'n, to type your future joys.

III.

The purple violet, damask rose,
Each, to delight your senses, blows.
The lilies ope', as you appear;
And all the beauties of the year
Diffuse their odours at your feet,
Who give to ev'ry flow'r its sweet.

IV.

For flow'rs and women are allied;
Both, nature's glory, and her pride!