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Grave authors fay, and witty poets fing,
That honeft wedlock is a glorious thing:
But depth of judgment most in him appears,
Who wifely weds in his maturer years.
Then let him chufe a damfel young and fair,
To blefs his age, and bring a worthy heir;

To footh his cares, and, free from noife and ftrife,
Conduct him gently to the verge of life.

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Let finful batchelors their woes deplore,

Full well they merit all they feel, and more:
Unaw'd by precepts human or divine,

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Like birds and beafts promifcuoufly they join:
Nor know to make the prefent bleffing laft,
To hope the future, or esteem the paft:
But vainly boaft the joys they never try'd,
And find divulg'd the fecrets they would hide.

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The marry'd man may bear his yoke with ease,
Secure at once himself and heaven to please;

And pafs his inoffenfive hours away,

In blifs all night, and innocence all day:

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Though fortune change, his conftant spouse remains, Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains.

But what fo pure, which envious tongues will fpare? Some wicked wits have libel'd all the fair.

With matchlefs impudence they style a wife
The dear-bought curfe, and lawful plague of life;
A bofom-ferpent, a domestic evil,

A night-invafion, and a mid-day devil.

Let not the wife these flanderous words regard,
But curfe the bones of every lying bard.

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All

All other goods by fortune's hand are given,
A wife is the peculiar gift of heaven.
Vain fortune's favours, never at a stay,
Like empty fhadows, pafs, and glide away;
One folid comfort, our eternal wife,
Abundantly fupplies us all our life:
This bleffing lafts (if those who try fay true)
As long as heart can wish-and longer too.
Our grandfire Adam, ere of Eve poffeft,
Alone, and ev'n in Paradise unblefs'd,

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With mournful looks the blissful scenes furvey'd,

And wander'd in the folitary fhade:

The Maker faw, took pity, and bestow'd

Woman, the laft, the best referv'd of God.

A Wife! ah gentle deities, can he

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That has a wife, e'er feel adversity?
Would men but follow what the fex advise,

All things would profper, all the world grow 'Twas by Rebecca's aid that Jacob won

wife.

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His father's bleffing from an elder fon:
Abusive Nabal ow'd his forfeit life

To the wife conduct of a prudent wife :
Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews show,

Preferv'd the Jews, and flew th' Affyrian foe:
At Hefter's fuit, the perfecuting fword
Was fheath'd, and Ifrael liv'd to bless the Lord.
These weighty motives, January the fage

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Maturely ponder'd in his riper age;

And, charm'd with virtuous joys and fober life,
Would try that Chriftian comfort, call'd a wife.

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His

His friends were fummon'd on a point fo nice,
To pass their judgment, and to give advice;
But fix'd before, and well refolv'd was he;
(As men that ask advice are wont to be.)

My friends, he cry'd (and caft a mournful look 85
Around the
room, and figh'd before he spoke :)
Beneath the weight of threescore years I bend,

And worn with cares, and haftening to my end;
How I have liv'd, alas! you know too well,
In worldly follies, which I blufh to tell;
But gracious heaven has ope'd my eyes at last,
With due regret I view my vices past,

And, as the precept of the Church decrees,
Will take a wife, and live in holy ease.
But, fince by counsel all things fhould be done,

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And many heads are wifer ftill than one;

Chufe you for me, who best shall be content

When my defire 's approv'd by your confent.
One caution yet is needful to be told,

To guide your choice; this wife muft not be old:
There goes a faying, and 'twas fhrewdly faid,

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Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.

My foul abhors the taftelefs, dry embrace
Of a ftale virgin with a winter face;

In that cold feafon Love but treats his gueft
With bean-ftraw, and tough forage at the best.
No crafty widows fhall approach my bed;
Thofe are too wife for batchelors to wed;
As fubtle clerks by many schools are made,
Twice-marry'd dames are mistreffes o' th' trade :

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But

But young and tender virgins rul'd with cafe,
We form like wax, and mould them as we please.
Conceive me, Sirs, nor take my sense amifs;
'Tis what concerns my foul's eternal blifs:
Since if I found no pleasure in my spouse,

As flesh is frail, and who (God help me) knows?
Then should I live in lewd adultery,

And fink downright to Satan when I die.
Or were I curs'd with an unfruitful bed,
The righteous end were loft, for which I wed;
To raise up feed to blefs the powers above,
And not for pleasure only, or for love.
Think not I doat; 'tis time to take a wife,
When vigorous blood forbids a chafter life:
Those that are bleft with ftore of grace divine,
May live like faints, by heaven's confent and mine.
And fince I speak of wedlock, let me fay,
(As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may)
My limbs are active, ftill I'm found at heart,
And a new vigour fprings in every part.

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Think not my virtue loft, though time has shed
These reverend honours on my hoary head;

Thus trees are crown'd with bloffoms white as fnow,

The vital fap then rifing from below:

Old as I am, my lufty limbs appear

Like winter greens, that flourish all the year.
Now, Sirs, you know to what I ftand inclin'd,
Let every friend with freedom fpeak his mind.
He faid; the reft in different parts divide;
The knotty point was urg'd on either fide:

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Marriage,

Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd,
Some prais'd with wit, and fome with reafon blam'd.
Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies,
Each wondrous pofitive, and wondrous wife,
There fell between his brothers a debate,
Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that.

First to the Knight Placebo thus begun

(Mild were his looks, and pleafing was his tone): Such prudence, Sir, in all your words appears,

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As plainly proves, experience dwells with years! 150 Yet you purfue fage Solomon's advice,

To work by counsel when affairs are nice :

But, with the Wife Man's leave, must protest,
So may my foul arrive at eafe and rest

As ftill I hold your own advice the best.

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Sir, I have liv'd a Courtier all my days,
And study'd men, their manners, and their ways;
And have obferv'd this ufeful maxim ftill,
To let my betters always have their will.
Nay, if my Lord affirm'd that black was white,
My word was this, Your honour's in the right.
Th' affuming Wit, who deems himself fo wife,
As his mistaken patron to advise,

Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought,
A noble fool was never in a fault.

This, Sir, affects not you, whofe every word
Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a Lord:
Your will is mine; and is (I will maintain)
Pleafing to God, and fhould be fo to man!
At least, your courage all the world must praise,
Who dare to wed in your declining days.

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