Broome, Pope, Pitt, Thomson

'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find
In all this world, much less in womankind;
But, if her virtues prove the larger share,
Bless the kind Fates, and think your fortune rare.
Ah, gentle sir, take warning of a friend,
Who knows too well the state you thus commend;
And, spite of all his praises, must declare,
All he can find is bondage, cost, and care.
Heaven knows, I shed full many a private tear,
And sigh in silence, lest the world should hear!
While all my friends applaud my blissful life,
And swear no mortal's happier in a wife;
Demure and chaste as any vestal nun,
The meekest creature that beholds the Sun!
But, by th' immortal powers, I feel the pain,
And he that smarts has reason to complain.
Do what you list, for me; you must be sage,
And cautious sure; for wisdom is in age:
But at these years, to venture on the fair;
By him who made the ocean, earth, and air,
To please a wife, when her occasions call,
Would busy the most vigorous of us all.
And trust me, sir, the chastest you can chuse
Will ask observance, and exact her dues,
If what I speak my noble lord offend,
My tedious sermon here is at an end.

""Tis well, 'tis wonderous well," the Knight replies, "Most worthy kinsman, faith you're mighty wise! We, sirs, are fools, and must resign the cause To heathenish authors, proverbs, and old saws. He spoke with scorn, and turn'd another way :What does my friend, my dear Placebo, say? "I say," quoth he, "by heaven the man's to blame, To slander wives, and wedlock's holy name," At this the conncil rose, without delay; Each, in his own opinion, went his way; With full consent, that, all disputes appeas'd, The knight should marry, when and where he Who now but January exults with joy? [pleas'd. The charms of wedlock all his soul employ; Each nymph by turns his wavering mind possest, And reign'd the short-liv'd tyrant of his breast; While fancy pictur'd every lively part, And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart, Thus, in some public forum fix'd on high, A mirror shows the figures moving by; Still one by one, in swift succession, pass The gliding shadows o'er the polish'd glass. This lady's charms the nicest could not blame, But vile suspicions had aspers'd her fame; That was with sense, but not with virtue, blest; And one had grace, that wanted all the rest. Thus doubting long what nymph he should obey, He fix'd at last upon the youthful May. Her faults he knew not, Love is always blind, But every charm revolv'd within his mind : Her tender age, her form divinely fair, Her easy motion, her attractive air, Her sweet behaviour, her enchanting face, Her moving softness, and majestic grace.

Much in his prudence did our knight rejoice, And thought no mortal could dispute his choice: Once more in haste he summon'd every friend, And told them all, their pains were at an end. "Heaven, that" (said he) “inspir'd me first to wed, Provides a consort worthy of my bed: Let none oppose th' election, since on this Depends my quiet, and my future bliss.

"A dame there is, the darling of my eyes, Young, beauteous, artless, innocent, and wise;

Chaste, though not rich; and, though not nobly
Of honest parents, and may serve my turn. [born,
Her will I wed, if gracious Heaven so please,
To pass my age in sanctity and ease;
And thank the powers, I may possess alone
The lovely prize, and share my bliss with none !
If you, my friends, this virgin can procure,
My joys are full, my happiness is sure.

"One only doubt remains: full oft I've heard,
By casuists grave, and deep divines averr'd,
That 'tis too much for human race to know
The bliss of Heaven above, and Earth below.
Now should the nuptial pleasures prove so great,
To match the blessings of the future state,
Those endless joys were ill-exchang'd for these;
Then clear this doubt, and set my mind at ease."

This Justin heard, nor could his spleen control, Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the soul. "Sir Knight," he cry'd, "if this be all you dread, Heaven put it past your doubt, whene'er you wed i And to my fervent prayers so far consent, That, ere the rites are o'er, you may repent! Good Heaven, no doubt, the nuptial state approves, Since it chastises still what best it loves. Then be not, sir, abandon'd to despair; Seek, and perhaps you'll find among the fair, One that may do your business to a hair; Not ev'n in wish, your happiness delay, But prove the scourge to lash you on your way; Then to the skies your mounting soul shall go, Swift as an arrow soaring from the bow! Provided still, you moderate your joy, Nor in your pleasures all your might employ, Let reason's rule your strong desires abate, Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate. Old wives there are, of judgment most acute, Who solve these questions beyond all dispute; Consult with those, and be of better cheer; Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear."

So said, they rose, no more the work delay'd The match was offer'd, the proposals made. The parents, you may think, would soon comply The old have interest ever in their eye. Nor was it hard to move the lady's mind; When fortune favours, still the fair are kind.

I pass each previous settlement and deed, Too long for me to writé, or you to read; Nor will with quaint impertinence display The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array. The time approach'd, to church the parties went, At once with carnal and devout intent: Forth came the priest, and bade th' obedient wife Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life; Then pray'd the powers the fruitful bed to bless, And made all sure enough with holiness.

And now the palace-gates are open'd wide, The guests appear in order, side by side, And plac'd in state the bridegroom and the bride. The breathing flute's soft notes are heard around, And the shrill trumpets mix their silver sound; The vaulted roofs with echoing music ring, [string. These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling Not thus Amphion tun'd the warbling lyre, Nor Joab the sounding clarion could inspire, Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain Could swell the soul to rage, and fire the martial train. Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace, (So poets sing) was present on the place: And lovely Venus, goddess of delight, Shook high her flaming torch in open sight,

And danc'd around, and smil'd on every knight:
Pleas'd her best servant would his courage try,
No less in wedlock, than in liberty.
Full many an age old Hymen had not spy'd
So kind a bridegroom, or so bright a bride.
Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng
For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song,
Think not your softest numbers can display
The matchless glories of the blissful day:
The joys are such as far transcend your rage,
When tender youth has wedded stooping age.

The beauteous dame sat smiling at the board,
And darted amorous glances at her lord.

When now the fourth revolving day was run,
('Twas June, and Cancer had receiv'd the Sun)
Forth from her chamber came the beauteous
bride;

The good old knight mov'd slowly by her side.
High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall;
The servants round stood ready at their call.
The squire alone was absent from the board,
And much his sickness griev'd his worthy lord,
Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train,
To visit Damian, and divert his pain.
Th' obliging dames obey'd with one consent;
They left the hall, and to his lodging went.

Not Hester's self, whose charms the Hebrews sing, The female tribe surround him as he lay,

E'er look'd so lovely on her Persian king:
Bright as the rising Sun in summer's day,
And fresh and blooming as the month of May!
The joyful knight survey'd her by his side,
Nor envy'd Paris with the Spartan bride :
Still as his mind revolv'd with vast delight
Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night,
Restless he sate, invoking every power
To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour.
Meantime the vigorous dancers beat the ground,
And songs were sung, and flowing bowls went round.
With odorous spices they perfum'd the place,
And mirth and pleasure shone in every face.

Damian alone, of all the menial train,
Sad in the midst of triumph, sigh'd for pain;
Damian alone, the knight's obsequious squire,
Consum'd at heart, and fed a secret fire.
His lovely mistress all his soul possess'd;
He look'd, he languish'd, and could take no rest:
His task perform'd, he sadly went his way,
Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day.
There let him lie, till his relenting dame
Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.

The wearied Sun, as learned poets write,
Forsook the horizon, and roll'd down the light;
While glittering stars his absent beams supply,
And Night's dark mantle overspread the sky.
Then rose the guests; and, as the time requir'd,
Each paid his thanks, and decently retir`d.

The foe once gone, our knight prepar'd t' undress,
So keen he was, and eager to possess:
But first thought fit th' assistance to receive,
Which grave physicians scruple not to give;
Satyrion near, with hot eringos stood,
-Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood,
Whose use old bards describe in luscious rhymes,
And critics learn'd explain to modern times.

By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd,
The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd.
What next ensued beseems me not to say;
'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day,
Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light,
As all were nothing he had done by night;
And sipp'd his cordial as he sat upright.
He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play,
And feebly sung a lusty roundelay:
Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast;
For every labour must have rest at last.

But anxious cares the pensive squire oppress'd,
Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forsook his breast:
The raging flames that in his bosom dwell,
He wanted art to hide, and means to tell;
Yet hoping time th' occasion might betray,
Compos'd a sonnet to the lovely May;
Which, writ and folded with the nicest art,
He wrap'd in silk, and laid upon his heart.

And close beside him sate the gentle May:
Where, as she try'd his pulse, he softly drew
A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view!
Then gave his bill, and brib'd the powers divine,
With secret vows to favour his design.

Who studies now but discontented May?
On her soft couch uneasily she lay;
The lumpish husband snor'd away the night,
Till coughs awak'd him near the morning light.
What then he did, I'll not presume to tell,
Nor if she thought herself in Heaven or Hell:
Honest and dull in nuptial bed they lay,
'Till the bell toll'd, and all arose to pray.

Were it by forceful Destiny decreed,
Or did from Chance or Nature's power proceed;
Or that some star, with aspect kind to love,
Shed its selectest influence from above;
Whatever was the cause, the tender dame
Felt the first motions of an infant flame;
Receiv'd th' impressions of the love-sick squire,
And wasted in the soft infectious fire.

Ye fair, draw near, let May's example move
Your gentle minds to pity those who love!
Had some fierce tyrant in her stead been found,
The poor adorer sure had hang'd, or drown'd;
But she, your sex's mirrour, free from pride,
Was much too meek to prove a homicide.

But to my tale: Some sages have defin'd
Pleasure the sovereign bliss of human kind:
Qur knight (who study'd much, we may suppose)
Deriv'd his high philosophy from those;
For, like a prince, he bore the vast expense
Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence:
His house was stately, his retinue gay;
Large was his train, and gorgeous his array.
His spacious garden, made to yield to none,
Was compass'd round with walls of solid stone;
Priapus could not half describe the grace
(Though god of gardens) of this charming places
A place to tire the rambling wits of France
In long descriptions, and exceed romance;
Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings
Of painted meadows, and of purling springs.

Full in the centre of the flowery ground,
A crystal fountain spread its streams around,
The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd:
About this spring (if ancient Fame say true)
The dapper elves their moon-light sports pursue:
Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen,
In circling dances gambol'd on the green,
While tuneful sprites a merry concert made,
And airy music warbled through the shade.

Hither the noble knight would oft repair,
(His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care)
For this he held it dear, and always bore
The silver key that lock'd the garden door..

To this sweet place, in summer's sultry heat,
He us'd from noise and business to retreat;
And here in dalliance' spend the live-long day,
Solus cum sola, with his sprightly May:
For whate'er work was undischarg'd a-bed,
The duteous knight in this fair garden sped.

But, ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure?
How short a space our worldly joys endure!
O Fortune, fair, like all thy treacherous kind,
But faithless still, and wavering as the wind!
O painted monster, form'd mankind to cheat
With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit!
This rich, this amorous venerable knight,
Amidst his ease, his solace and delight,
Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief,
And calls on Death, the wretch's last relief.

The rage of jealousy then seiz'd his mind,
For much he fear'd the faith of woman kind.
His wife, not suffer'd from his side to stray,
Was captive kept; he watch'd her night and day,
Abridg'd her pleasures, and contin'd her sway.
Full oft in tears did hapless May complain,
And sigh'd full oft; but sigh'd and wept in vain :
She look'd on Damian with a lover's eye;
For, oh, 'twas fix'd, she must possess or die!
Nor less impatience vex'd her ainorous squire,
Wild with delay, and burning with desire.
Watch'd as she was, yet could he not refrain
By secret writing to disclose his pain:
The damne by signs reveal'd her kind intent,
Till both were conscious what each other meant.
Ah, gentle knight, what could thy eyes avail,
Though they could see as far as ships can sail?
"Tis better, sure, when blind, deceiv'd to be,
Than be deluded when a man can see!

Argus himself, so cautious and so wise, Was over-watch'd, for all his hundred eyes: So many an honest husband may, 'tis known, Who, wisely, never thinks the case his own.

The dame at last, by diligence and care, Procur'd the key her knight was wont to bear; She took the wards in wax before the fire, And gave th' impression to the trusty squire. By means of this, some wonder shall appear, Which, in due place and season, you may hear. Well sung sweet Ovid, in the days of yore, What slight is that, which love will not explore? And Pyramus and Thisbe plainly show The feats true lovers, when they list, can do: Though watch'd and captive, yet in spite of all, They found the art of kissing through a wall.

But now no longer from our tale to stray; It happ'd, that once upon a summer's day, Our reverend knight was urg'd to amorous play: He rais'd his spouse ere matin-bell was rung, And thus his morning carticle he sung. "Awake, my love, disclose thy radiant eyes; Arise, my wife, my beauteous lady, rise! Hear how the doves with pensive notes complain, And in soft murmurs tell the trees their pain: The winter's past; the clouds and tempests fly; The Sun adorns the fields, and brightens all the sky. Fair without spot, whose every charming part My bosom wounds, and captivates my heart, Come, and in mutual pleasures let's engage, Joy of my life, and comfort of my age.”

This heard, to Damian sraight a sign she made, To haste before; the gentle squire obey'd: Secret, and undescry'd, he took his way, And ambush'd close behind an arbour lay.

It was not long ere January came, And hand in hand with him his lovely dame; Blind as he was, not doubting all was sure, He turn'd the key, and made the gate secure. "Here let us walk," he said, "observ'd by none, Conscious of pleasures to the world unknown: So may my soul have joy, as thou, my wife, Art far the dearest solace of my life; And rather would I chuse, by Heaven above, To die this instant, than to lose thy love. Reflect what truth was in my passion shown, When unendow'd I took thee for my own, And sought no treasure but thy heart alone. Old as I am, and now depriv'd of sight, Whilst thou art faithful to thy own true knight, Nor age nor blindness rob me of delight. Each other loss with patience I can bear, The loss of thee is what I only fear.

"Consider then, my lady, and my wife, The solid comforts of a virtuous life.

As, first, the love of Christ himself you gain;
Next, your own honour undefil'd maintain;
And lastly, that which sure your mind must move,
My whole estate shall gratify your love :
Make your own terms, and ere to-morrow's Sun
Displays his light, by Heaven, it shall be done.
I seal the contract with a holy kiss,

And will perform, by this-my dear, and this-
Have comfort, spouse, nor think thy lord unkind;
'Tis love, not jealousy, that fires my mind.
For when thy charms my sober thoughts engage,
And join'd to them my own unequal age,
From thy dear side I have no power to part,
Such secret transports warm my melting heart.
For who, that once possess'd those heavenly charms,
Could live one moment absent from thy arms?"

He ceas'd, and May with modest grace reply'd,
(Weak was her voice, as while she spoke she cry'd)
"Heaven knows" (with that a tender sigh she drew)
"I have a soul to save as well as you;
And, what no less you to my charge commend,
My dearest honour, will to death defend.
To you in holy church I gave my hand,
And join'd my heart in wedlock's sacred band:
Yet, after this, if you distrust my care,
Then hear, my lord, and witness what I swear.
"First may the yawning Earth her bosom rend,
And let me hence to Hell alive descend;
Or die the death I dread no less than Hell,
Sew'd in a sack, and plung'd into a well;
Ere I my fame by one lewd act disgrace,
Or once renounce the honour of my race:
For know, sir Knight, of gentle blood I came;
I loath a whore, and startle at the name.
But jealous men on their own crimes reflect,
And learn from hence their ladies to suspect:
Else why these needless cautions, sir, to me?
These doubts and fears of female constancy!
This chime still rings in every lady's ear,
The only strain a wife must hope to hear."

Thus while she spoke, a sidelong glance she cast, Where Damian, kneeling, worship'd as she past. She saw him watch the motions of her eye, And singled out a pear-tree planted nigh: "Twas charg'd with fruit that made a goodly show, And hung with dangling pears was every bough. Thither th' obsequious squire address'd his pace, And, climbing, in the summit took his place; The knight and lady walk'd beneath in view, Where let us leave them, and our tale pursue.

"Twas now the season when the glorious Sun
His heavenly progress through the Twins had run;
And Jove, exalted, his mild influence yields,
To glad the glebe, and paint the flowery fields.
Clear was the day, and Phoebus, rising bright,
Had streak'd the azure firmament with light;
He pierc'd the glittering clouds with golden streams,
And warm'd the womb of Earth with genial beams.
It so befel, in that fair morning-tide,
The fairies sported on the garden-side,
And in the midst their monarch and his bride.
So featly tripp'd the light-foot ladies round,
The knights so nimbly o'er the greensword bound,
That scarce they bent the flowers, or touch'd the
The dances ended, all the fairy train
For pinks and daisies search'd the flowery plain;
[ground.
While, on a bank reclin'd of rising green,
Thus, with a frown, the king bespoke his queen.
""Tis too apparent, argue what you can,
The treachery you women use to man:
A thousand authors have this truth made out,
And sad experience leaves no room for doubt.
"Heaven rest thy spirit, noble Solomon,
A wiser monarch never saw the Sun;
All wealth, all honours, the supreme degree
Of earthly bliss, was well bestow'd on thee!
For sagely hast thou said: 'Of all mankind,
One only just and righteous hope to 'find:
But shouldst thou search the spacious world around,
Yet one good woman is not to be found.'
"Thus says the king, who knew your wickedness:
The son of Sirach testifies no less.
So may some wildfire on your bodies fall,
Or some devouring plague consume you all.
As well you view the leacher in the tree,
And well this honourable knight you see:
But since he's blind and old (a helpless case),
His squire shall cuckold him before your face.
"Now, by my own dread majesty I swear,
And by this awful sceptre which I bear,
No impious wretch shall 'scape unpunish'd long,
That in my presence offers such a wrong.
I will this instant undeceive the knight,
And in the very act restore his sight;
And set the strumpet here in open view,
A warning to these ladies, and to you,
And all the faithless sex, for ever to be true."
"And will you so," reply'd the queen, "indeed!
Now, by my mother's soul it is decreed,
She shall not want an answer at her need.
For her, and for her daughters, I'll engage,
And all the sex in each succeeding age!
Art shall be theirs, to varnish an offence,
And fortify their crime with confidence.
Nay, were they taken in a strict embrace,
Seen with both eyes, and pinion'd on the place;
All they shall need is to protest and swear,
Breathe a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear!
Till their wise husbands, gull'd by arts like these,
Grow gentle, tractable, and tame as geese.
"What though this slanderous Jew, this Solomon,
Call'd women fools, and knew full many a one;
The wiser wits of later times declare,

How constant, chaste, and virtuous, women are:
Witness the martyrs, who resign'd their breath,
Serene in torments, unconcern'd in death;
And witness next what Roman authors tell,
How Arria, Portia, and Lucretia fell.

"But, since the sacred leaves to all are free, And men interpret texts, why should not we ?

191

That sovereign goodness dwells in him alone
By this no more was meant, than to have shown,
Who only is, and is but only One.

But grant the worst; shall women then be weigh'd
By every word that Solomon has said?
What though this king (as ancient story boasts)
Built a fair temple to the Lord of Hosts;
He ceas'd at last his Maker to adore,
And did as much for idol gods, or more.
Beware what lavish praises you confer
On a rank leacher and idolater;
Did but for David's righteous sake permit ;
Whose reign, indulgent God, says holy writ,
David, the monarch after Heaven's own mind,
Who lov'd our sex, and honour'd all our kind.

"Well, I'm a woman, and as such must speak §
Silence would swell me, and my heart would break
Know then, I scorn your dull authorities,
Your idle wits, and all their learned lies.
By Heaven, those authors are our sex's foes,
Whom, in our right, I must and will oppose.

"Nay" (quoth the king)" dear madam, be not
I yield it up; but since I gave my oath, [wroth:
That this much-injur'd knight again should see,
It must be done-I am a king," said he,
"And one, whose faith has ever sacred been."

"And so has mine" (she said)—“ I am à queen >
And thus an end of all dispute I make.
Her answer she shall have, I undertake;
It is not in our sex to break our word."
Try when you list; and you shall find, my lord,

We leave them here in this heroic strain,
And to the knight our story turns again;
Who in the garden, with his lovely May,
Sung merrier than the cuckow or the jay:
This was his song ; 66 Oh, kind and constant be,
"Constant and kind I'll ever prove to thee."

Thus singing as he went, at last he drew
By easy steps, to where the pear-tree grew :
The longing dame look'd up, and spy'd her love
Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above.
She stopp'd, and sighing: "Oh, good gods!" she
cry'd,

"What pangs, what sudden shoots, distend my side!
O for that tempting fruit, so fresh, so green;
Help, for the love of Heaven's immortal queen
Of thy poor infant, and thy longing wife !"
Help, dearest lord, and save at once the life

Sore sigh'd the knight to hear his lady's cry,
But could not climb, and had no servant nigh:
Old as he was, and void of eye-sight too,
What could, alas! a helpless husband do?
"And must I languish then," she said, "and die,
Yet view the lovely fruit before my eye?
At least, kind sir, for Charity's sweet sake,
Vouchsafe the trunk between your arms to take &
Then from your back I might ascend the tree;
Do you but stoop, and leave the rest to me."

"With all my soul," he thus reply'd again,
With that, his back against the trunk he bent,
"I'd spend my dearest blood to ease thy pain."
She seiz'd a twig, and up the tree she went.

Now prove your patience, gentle ladies all!
Nor let on me your heavy anger fall:
'Tis truth I tell, though not in phrase refin'd ;
Though blunt my tale, yet honest is my mind
What feats the lady in the tree might do,
I pass, as gambols never known to you;
But sure it was a merrier fit, she swore,
Than in her life she ever felt before.

In that nice moment, lo! the wondering knight Look'd out, and stood restor❜d to sudden sight. Straight on the tree his eager eyes he bent, As one whose thoughts were on his spouse intent; But when he saw his bosom-wife so dress'd, His rage was such as cannot be express'd: Not frantic mothers when their infants die, With louder clamours rend the vaulted sky: He cry'd, he roar'd, he storm'd, he tore his hair; "Death! Hell! and Furies! what dost thou do there?" "What ails my Lord?" the trembling dame reply'd; "I thought your patience had been better try'd : Is this your love, ungrateful and unkind, This my reward for having cur'd the blind? Why was I taught to make my husband see, By struggling with a man upon a tree? Did I for this the power of magic prove? Unhappy wife, whose crime was too much love!" "If this be struggling, by this holy light, "Tis struggling with avengeance" (quoth the knight): "So Heaven preserve the sight it has restor'd, As with these eyes I plainly saw thee whor'd; Whor'd by my slave-perfidious wretch! may Hell As surely seize thee, as I saw too well!"

"Guard me, good angels !" cry'd the gentle May,
"Pray Heaven, this magic work the proper way!
Alas, my love! 'tis certain, could you see,
You ne'er had us'd these killing words to me:
So help me, Fates, as 'tis no perfect sight,
But some faint glimmering of a doubtful light."
"What I have said" (quoth he) “I must maintain,
For by th' immortal powers it seem'd too plain—”
"By all those powers,some frenzyseiz'd your mind"
(Reply'd the dame): "are these the thanks I find?
Wretch that I am, that e'er I was so kind!"
She said; a rising sigh express'd her woe,
The ready tears apace began to flow,
And, as they fell, she wip'd from either eye
The drops (for women when they list, can cry).
The knight was touch'd, and in his looks appear'd
Signs of remorse, while thus his spouse he cheer'd:
Madam, 'tis past, and my short anger o'er;
Come down, and vex your tender heart no more:
Fxcuse me, dear, if aught amiss was said,
For, on my soul, amends shall soon be made:
Let my repentance your forgiveness draw,
By Heaven, I swore but what I thought I saw."
"Ah, my lov'd lord! 'twas much unkind" (she
"On bare suspicion thus to treat your bride. [cry'd)
But, till your sight's establish'd for a while,
Imperfect objects may your sense beguile.
Thus when from sleep we first our eyes display,
The balls are wounded with the piercing ray,
And dusky vapours rise, and intercept the day.
So, just recovering from the shades of night,
Your swimming eyes are drunk with sudden light,
Strange phantoms dance around, and skim before
your sight:

Then, sir, be cautious, nor too rashly deem :
Heaven knows how seldom things are what they
Consult your reason, and you soon shall find [seem!
'Twas you were jealous, not your wife unkind:
Jove ne'er spoke oracle more true than this,
None judge so wrong as those who think amiss."
With that she leap'd into her lord's embrace,
With well-dissembled virtue in her face.
He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er,
Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no more:
Both, pleas'd and bless'd, renew'd their mutual vows,
A fruitful wife, and a believing spouse.

Thus ends our tale; whose moral next to make, Let all wise husbands hence example take; And pray, to crown the pleasure of their lives, To be so well deluded by their wives.

THE WIFE OF BATH,

HER PROLOGUE, FROM CHAUCER. BEHOLD the woes of matrimonial life, And hear with reverence an experienc'd wife! To dear-bought wisdom give the credit due, And think, for once, a woman tells you true. In all these trials I have borne a part, I was myself the scourge that caus'd the smart ; For, since fifteen, in triumph have I led Five captive husbands from the church to bed.

Christ saw a wedding once, the Scripture says, And saw but one, 'tis thought, in all his days; Whence some infer, whose conscience is too nice, No pious Christian ought to marry twice.

But let them read, and solve me, if they can, The words address'd to the Samaritan: Five times in lawful wedlock she was join'd; And sure the certain stint was ne'er defin’d. "Encrease and multiply," was Heaven's com→ mand,

And that's a text I clearly understand.
This too, "Let men their sires and mothers leave,
And to their dearer wives for ever cleave."
More wives than one by Solomon were try'd,
Or else the wisest of mankind's bely'd.
I've had myself full many a merry fit;
And trust in Heaven, I may have many yet,
For when my transitory spouse, unkind,
Shall die, and leave his woeful wife behind,
I'll take the next good Christian I can find.

Paul, knowing one could never serve our turn,
Declar'd 'twas better far to wed than burn.
There's danger in assembling fire and tow;
I grant them that, and what it means you know.
The same apostle too has elsewhere own'd,
No precept for virginity he found :
'Tis but a counsel and we women still
Take which we like, the counsel, or our will
I envy not their bliss, if he or she
Think fit to live in perfect chastity;
Pure let them be, and free from taint of vice;
I, for a few slight spots, am not so nice.
Heaven calls us different ways, on these bestows
One proper gift, another grants to those :
Not every man's oblig'd to sell his store,
And give up all his substance to the poor;
Such as are perfect may, I can't deny;
But, by your leaves, divines, so am not I.

Full many a saint, since first the world began, Liv'd an unspotted maid, in spite of man: Let such (a-God's name) with fine wheat be fed, And let us honest wives eat barley bread. For me, I'll keep the post assign'd by Heaven, And use the copious talent it has given: Let my good spouse pay tribute, do me right, And keep an equal reckoning every night. His proper body is not his, but mine; For so said Paul, and Paul's a sound divine.

Know then, of those five husbands I have had, Three were just tolerable, two ere bad. The three were old, but rich and fond beside, And toil'd most piteously to please their bride:

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