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Stubborn as any lioness was I,

And knew full well to raise my voice on high :
As true a rambler as I was before,

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And would be so, in spite of all he swore:
He, against this, right sagely would advise,
And old examples set before my eyes;
Tell, how the Roman matrons led their life,
Of Gracchus' mother, and Duilius' wife;
And close the sermon, as beseem'd his wit,
With some grave sentence out of Holy Writ.
Oft would he say, 'Who builds his house on sands,
Pricks his blind horse across the fallow lands;
Or lets his wife abroad with pilgrims roam,
Deserves a fool's cap, and long ears at home.' 350
All this avail'd not; for, whoe'er he be
That tells my faults, I hate him mortally:
And so do numbers more, I'll boldly say,
Men, women, clergy, regular and lay.

My spouse, who was, you know, to learning bred,

A certain treatise oft at evening read,

Where divers authors, whom the devil confound For all their lies were in one volume bound: Valerius, whole; and of St. Jerome, part; Chrysippus and Tertullian, Ovid's Art, Solomon's Proverbs, Eloisa's loves,

360

And many more than sure the Church approves. More legends were there, here, of wicked wives, Than good, in all the Bible and Saints' Lives. Who drew the lion vanquish'd? 'Twas a man: But could we women write as scholars can,

Men should stand mark'd with far more wicked

ness

Than all the sons of Adam could redress.

Love seldom haunts the breast where learning

lies;

And Venus sets, ere Mercury can rise.

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Those play the scholars who can't play the men ; And use that weapon which they have, their

pen:

When old, and past the relish of delight,
Then down they sit, and in their dotage write,
That not one woman keeps her marriage-vow.
This by the way; but to my purpose now.

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It chanced, my husband, on a winter's night, Read in this book aloud with strange delight; How the first female, as the Scriptures show, Brought her own spouse and all his race to woe : How Samson fell; and he, whom Dejanire Wrapp'd in the envenom'd shirt, and set on fire: How cursed Eryphile her lord betray'd ; And the dire ambush Clytemnestra laid: But what most pleased him was the Cretan dame, And husband-bull-O, monstrous! fie, for shame! He had by heart, the whole detail of woe, Xantippe made her good man undergo; How oft she scolded in a day, he knew: How many piss-pots on the sage she threw; 390 Who took it patiently, and wiped his head; 'Rain follows thunder' that was all he said. He read, how Arius to his friend complain'd, A fatal tree was growing in his land,

On which three wives successively had twined A sliding noose, and waver'd in the wind. 'Where grows this plant?' replied the friend; 'O, where?

For better fruit did never orchard bear.

Give me some slip of this most blissful tree,
And in my garden planted shall it be.'

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Then, how two wives their lords' destruction

prove,

Through hatred one, and one through too much

love;

That for her husband mixed a poisonous draught,
And this for lust an amorous philtre bought :
The nimble juice soon seized his giddy head,
Frantic at night, and in the morning dead.

How some with swords their sleeping lords have slain,

And some have hammer'd nails into their brain ;

And some have drench'd them with a deadly potion:

All this he read, and read with great devotion. 410 Long time I heard, and swell'd, and blush'd, and frown'd;

But when no end of these vile tales I found,
When still he read, and laugh'd, and read again,
And half the night was thus consumed in vain ;-
Provoked to vengeance, three large leaves I tore,
And with one buffet fell'd him on the floor.
With that, my husband in a fury rose,
And down he settled me with hearty blows.
I groan'd, and lay extended on my side:
'O, thou hast slain me for my wealth,' I cried :
'Yet I forgive thee: take my last embrace.'
He wept, kind soul! and stoop'd to kiss my
face.

I took him such a box as turn'd him blue;

·

421

Then sigh'd, and cried,- Adieu, my dear, adieu !' But, after many a hearty struggle past,

I condescended to be pleased at last.

Soon as he said, 'My mistress and my wife,
Do what you list, the term of all your life;'
I took to heart the merits of the cause,

And stood content to rule by wholesome laws; 430
Received the reins of absolute command,
With all the government of house and land,
And empire o'er his tongue, and o'er his hand.
As for the volume that reviled the dames,
'Twas torn to fragments, and condemn'd to flames.
Now Heaven, on all my husbands gone, bestow
Pleasures above for tortures felt below :

That rest they wish'd for, grant them in the grave;
And bless those souls my conduct help'd to save!

ODES.

ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1706.*

I.

DESCEND, ye Nine! descend and sing;
The breathing instruments inspire,
Wake into voice each silent string,
And sweep the sounding lyre!
In a sadly-pleasing strain

Let the warbling lute complain :
Let the loud trumpet sound,
Till the roofs all around

The shrill echoes rebound:

While in more lengthen'd notes and slow, 10
The deep, majestic, solemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers soft and clear

Gently steal upon the ear;

Now louder, and yet louder rise,

And fill with spreading sounds the skies:

Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes;
In broken air, trembling, the wild music floats;
Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The strains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

II.

By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Nor swell too high, nor sink too low.
If in the breast tumultuous joys arise,
Music her soft, assuasive voice applies;

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* Set to music, 1730, By Greene, organist of St. Paul's, as an exercise for his doctor's degree at Cambridge.

Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,
Exalts her in enlivening airs.

Warriors she fires with animated sounds;
Pours balm into the bleeding lover's wounds :
Melancholy lifts her head,
Morpheus rouses from his bed,
Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes,
Listening Envy drops her snakes;

Intestine war no more our passions wage,
And giddy factions hear away their rage.

III.

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But when our country's cause provokes to arms, How martial music every bosom warms! So when the first bold vessel dared the seas, High on the stern the Thracian raised his strain, While Argo saw her kindred trees

Descend from Pelion to the main.

Transported demigods stood round,
And men grew heroes at the sound,
Inflamed with glory's charms:
Each chief his sevenfold shield display'd,
And half unsheathed the shining blade:
And seas, and rocks, and skies rebound,
'To arms, to arms, to arms!'

IV.

But when through all the infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegethon surrounds,

Love, strong as death, the poet led
To the pale nations of the dead,
What sounds were heard,
What scenes appear'd,

O'er all the dreary coasts!

Dreadful gleams,

Dismal screams,
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,

Sullen moans,

Hollow groans,

And cries of tortured ghosts!

FF

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