Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! that Echo'd Word,
Offends the Ear of Vulgar Bird;
But thofe of finer Tafte have found
There's Nothing in't befide the Sound.
Preferment always waits on Horns,
And Houfhold Peace the Gift adorns :
This Way or that let Factions tend,
The Spark is ftill the Cuckold's Friend;
This Way or that let Madam roam,
Well pleas'd and quiet fhe comes home.
Now weigh the Pleasure with the Pain,
The Plus and Minus, Lofs and Gain,
And what Lafontaine laughing says,
Is serious Truth, in fuch a Cafe ;
Who flights the Evil finds it least,
And who does Nothing does the best.
I never ftrove to rule the Roast,
She ne'er refus'd to pledge my Toaft:
In Vifits if we chanc'd to meet,
I feem'd obliging, she discreet;
We neither much carefs'd nor ftrove,
But good Diffembling pass'd for Love.
T. What e'er of Light our Eye may know,
'Tis only Light it felf can fhow :
What e'er of Love our Heart can feel,
Tis mutual Love alone can tell.
My pretty, amorous, foolish Bird,
A Moment's Patience, in one Word,
The Three kind Sifters broke the Chain,
She dy'd, I mourn'd, and woo'd again.
Let me with jufter Grief deplore
My dear Columbo, now no more;
Let me with conftant Tears bewail
Your Sorrow does but fpoil my Tale.
My Fifth fhe prov'd a jealous Wife,
Lord fhield us all from fuch a Life!
'Twas Doubt, Complaint, Reply, Chit-Chat,
'Twas this To-Day, To-morrow that.
Sometimes forfooth upon the Brook,
I kept a Miss; an honest Rook
Told it a Snipe, who told a Stear,
Who told it thofe, who told it her:
One Day a Lennet and a Lark
Had met me ftrolling in the Dark ;
The next a Woodcock and an Owl
Quick-fighted, grave, and fober Fowl,
Wou'd on their Corp'oral Oath alledge,
I kiss'd a Hen behind the Hedge.
Well, Madam Turtle, to be brief,
(Repeating but renews our Grief)
As once the watch'd me, from a Rail,
Poor Soul! her Footing chanc'd to fail,
And down the fell, and broke her Hip,
The Feaver came, and then the Pip:
Death did the only cure apply;
She was at quiet, so was I.
Cou'd Love unmov'd these Changes view?
His Sorrows, as his Joys, are true.
My dearest Dove, one wife Man fays,
Alluding to our present Case,
We're here To-day, and gone To-morrow:
Then what avails fuperfluous Sorrow ?
Another full as wife as he
Adds that a marry'd Man may fee
Two happy Hours;
The First and Laft,
and which are they?
perhaps you'l say;
'Tis true, when blith fhe goes to Bed,
And when the peaceably lies dead;
Women 'twixt Sheets are beft 'tis faid,
Be they of Holland or of Lead.
Now cur'd of Hymen's Hopes and Fears,
And fliding down the Vale of Years,
I hop'd to fix my future Reft,
And took a Widow to my Neft.
Ah Turtle! had he been like thee,
Sober, yet gentle; wife, yet free;
But she was peevish, noisy, bold,
A Witch engrafted on a Scold:
Jove in Pandora's Box confin'd
A Hundred Ills to vex Mankind;
To vex one Bird in her Bandore
He hid at least a hundred more:
And foon as Time that Veil withdrew
The Plagues o'er all the Parifh flew ;
Her Stock of borrow'd Tears grew dry,
And Native Tempefts arm'd her Eye,
Black Clouds around her Forehead hung,
And Thunder rattl'd on her Tongue.
We, Young or Old, or Cock or Hen,
All liv'd in Eolus's Den ;
The nearest her the more accurft,
Ill far'd her Friends, her Husband worst.
But JOVE amidit his Anger fpares,
Remarks our Faults, but hears our Pray'rs.
In short, fhe dy'd, why then fhe's dead
Quoth I, and once again I'll wed.
Wou'd Heaven this Mourning Year was paft,
One may have better Luck at laft.
Matters at worst are fure to mend,
The DEVIL's Wife was but a Fiend.
Thy Tale has rais'd a Turtle's Spleen,
Uxorious Inmate, Bird obfcene,
Dar'ft thou defile thefe facred Groves,
These filent Seats of faithful Loves?
Begone, with flagging Wings fet down
On fome old Pent-houfe near the Town
In Brewers-Stables peck thy Grain,
Then wash it down with puddl'd Rain :
And hear thy dirty Off-fpring Squawl
From Bottles on a Suburb Wall.
Where thou haft been return again,
Vile Bird, thou haft convers'd with Men;
Notions like these from Men are giv'n,
Thofe vileft Creatures under Heav'n :
To Cities and to Courts repair,
Flatt'ry and Falfhood flourish there :
There all thy wretched Arts employ,
Where Riches triumph over Joy;
Where Paffions does with Int'reft barter,
And Hymen holds by Mammon's Charter
Where Truth by Point of Law is parry'd,
And Knaves and Prudes are Six Times marry'd.
ERRATA. Page 2. Line 7. for Swains read Swans. p. 4. 1.6. for done r. gone. p. 8. 1. 30, for a Wife r. my Wife.
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