Nuptial Dialogues and Debates Or, An Useful Prospect of the felicities and discomforts of a marry'd life, Incident to all Degrees, from the Throne to the Cottage. Containing, Many great Examples of Love, Piety, Prudence, Justice, and all the excellent Vertues, that largely contribute to the true Happiness of Wedlock. Drawn from the Lives of our own Princes, Nobility, and other Quality, in Prosperity and Adversity. Also the fantastical Humours of all Fops, Coquets, Bullies, Jilts, fond Fools, and Wantons; old Fumblers, barren Ladies, Misers, parsimonious Wives, Ninnies, Sluts and Termagants; drunken Husbands, toaping Gossips, schismatical Precisians, and devout Hypocrites of all sorts. Digested into serious, merry, and satyrical Poems, wherein both Sexes, in all Stations, are reminded of their Duty, and taught how to be happy in a Matrimonial State. In Two Volumes. By the Author of the London Spy [i.e. Edward Ward] |
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| XVII. | DIALOGUE XVII. Between the grave Philosopher, and his young scolding Wife.
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DIALOGUE XVII. Between the grave Philosopher, and his young scolding Wife.
Philosopher.I find, my Dear, thy Tongue so restless proves,
That like a running Stream it always moves;
Takes wond'rous Pains, for very slender Thanks,
And murmurs like a Brook between its Banks;
All Day it gallops like a Gravesend Pad,
And if I chance to spur, it runs like mad:
Nor can the drowsy God of Silence keep
The teasing Wasp from buzzing in its Sleep;
For as loquacious Storms are thy Delight,
The Thunder-Claps by Day that vent thy Spite,
Eccho again in Dreams aloud at Night.
Wife.
She that wants Tongue, and is too calm to rave,
Is born, if wed, to be a Husband's Slave:
All Men are Tyrants to the weaker Sex,
That have not Sense to study how to vex.
The Tongue's a Woman's Weapon of Defence;
To scold with Skill's a female Excellence:
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Prevents Neglect, and does his Spirits rouse.
The Husband's always kindest to the Shrew,
Glad to oblige, and careful to be true;
Whilst the poor silent Fool that spares to speak,
Shall scarce receive one Favour once a Week,
But be despis'd, and lead a hateful Life,
More like a worthless Vassal, than a Wife:
Do this, I say, I charge you that forbear;
Fine nuptial Musick in a Woman's Ear!
When the kind Husband, if his Bride be wise,
Fears to offend, and scorns to tyrannize;
Never commands, but crys, my Dear, I pray,
And asks in a petitionary Way;
Courts the good Humour he is glad to find,
And studies how to make and keep her kind.
Wives, like proud Senators, that love to spake,
Are more esteem'd, the greater Noise they make:
One's honour'd by his Prince, because he's fear'd,
The other by her Spouse the more endear'd;
Whilst those subservient Wretches, silent Wives,
Fare like nonspeaking Representatives,
Because their patient, servile Tameness, shows,
They're only fit to pass for Yea's and No's.
Philosopher.
But to talk always, like thy self, my Dear,
What Man unmov'd, can such a Torment bear?
No restless Tongue to factious Clamours bent,
Can more Contention breed, or Malice vent,
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Which rowls, like Thunder, round my House all Day.
Thy Breath, like raging Winds, maintains a Storm,
And thy own Bell'wings keep thy Passion warm;
Tho' in my Closet lock'd, I hear thee loud,
As the fierce Language of a breaking Cloud;
Nor in my studious Hours can I be free
From your shrill Clamours at your Maid or me:
'Tis hard all Day, and when at Night in Bed,
I only should with Æsop's Dish be fed.
Consider, Love, that a vexatious Tongue
Is a tough Bit to tug at, tho' 'tis young;
I therefore beg, my Dear, that you'll prepare,
Instead of so much Tongue, some better Fare,
Or the harsh Tone of thy provoking Voice,
Will make me blame my Love, and curse my Choice;
For was I free, I'd sooner wed a Drum,
Than thus be plagu'd with thy incessant Hum:
You, without Cause, exert your noisy Heat,
But that would never grumble, 'till 'twas beat.
Wife.
What signifies your Sense, above a Fool's,
Or all your boasted Philosophick Rules,
If you want Patience, in a marry'd State,
To bear the Pratlings of your nuptial Mate?
Woman must talk, and exercise her Tongue;
You know her Reason's weak, her Passion's strong;
Why then would you, so very learn'd and wise,
Marry, to run the Hazard of her Noise?
The Fiddle when untun'd, will grate the Ear,
But, if you'll play on't, you the Sound must bear.
He that abhors a Noise, and is so weak
To pull the Bell-Rope in a foolish Freak,
With Patience ought to hear the Clapper speak.
Or all your boasted Philosophick Rules,
If you want Patience, in a marry'd State,
To bear the Pratlings of your nuptial Mate?
Woman must talk, and exercise her Tongue;
You know her Reason's weak, her Passion's strong;
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Marry, to run the Hazard of her Noise?
The Fiddle when untun'd, will grate the Ear,
But, if you'll play on't, you the Sound must bear.
He that abhors a Noise, and is so weak
To pull the Bell-Rope in a foolish Freak,
With Patience ought to hear the Clapper speak.
He that, to please his Appetite, will take
A Bees-Nest, for the luscio us Honey's Sake,
If he be stung, no Discontent should show,
Because he did before the Danger know.
A Bees-Nest, for the luscio us Honey's Sake,
If he be stung, no Discontent should show,
Because he did before the Danger know.
I thought a true Philosopher too wise
For Care to o'er his Patience tyrannize;
Too fix'd and resolute, his Soul too great
To be disturb'd at Chance, or mov'd by Fate:
A Man, so guarded against Grief and Pain,
Which shock the Fibres of each common Brain,
That no vexatious Sting had Pow'r to tease
His steddy Mind, or interrupt his Ease;
But, like a God, he could unmov'd sustain
The heaviest Burthens, and their Weight disdain;
Smile at those Plagues which harass human Race,
And bear the worst Misfortunes with a Grace.
For Care to o'er his Patience tyrannize;
Too fix'd and resolute, his Soul too great
To be disturb'd at Chance, or mov'd by Fate:
A Man, so guarded against Grief and Pain,
Which shock the Fibres of each common Brain,
That no vexatious Sting had Pow'r to tease
His steddy Mind, or interrupt his Ease;
But, like a God, he could unmov'd sustain
The heaviest Burthens, and their Weight disdain;
Smile at those Plagues which harass human Race,
And bear the worst Misfortunes with a Grace.
But Wedlock makes Philosophers, I find,
Forsake the Virtues of a steddy Mind,
And represents 'em in that State of Care,
But just as wife as other Husbands are.
A Wife, forsooth, can't talk, but she must scold;
If silent, she's too dull; if free, too bold;
If airy, wanton; if reserv'd, precise;
If she looks pleas'd, she's vitious with her Eyes.
Thus all Men, in a marry'd State, concur,
So says the Fool, so the Philosopher.
All without Reason will their Censures pass,
From the wise Teacher, to the worthless Ass:
He that has ne'er an Eye, is not so blind,
But in his Wife he can some Failing find;
And still the more a Woman strives to please,
Always the greater Faults a Husband sees.
What Woman therefore, if it proves her Lot
To wed a studious Sage, or learned Sot,
Who among Calves-skin Doublets spends his Life,
And doats upon his Books, instead of Wife,
Would check the Freedom of her Tongue, to sooth
A cloister'd Temper, surly and uncouth,
That only with a marry'd State comply'd,
To have a Nurse, much rather than a Bride,
That you might preach up Duty to the Fool,
Teach her t'obey, whilst you usurp the Rule;
Make her believe she's taken from your Side,
To only gratify your Lust and Pride;
And that she's bound, by Marriage, to submit
To ev'ry Edict that her Lord thinks fit?
Forsake the Virtues of a steddy Mind,
And represents 'em in that State of Care,
But just as wife as other Husbands are.
A Wife, forsooth, can't talk, but she must scold;
If silent, she's too dull; if free, too bold;
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If she looks pleas'd, she's vitious with her Eyes.
Thus all Men, in a marry'd State, concur,
So says the Fool, so the Philosopher.
All without Reason will their Censures pass,
From the wise Teacher, to the worthless Ass:
He that has ne'er an Eye, is not so blind,
But in his Wife he can some Failing find;
And still the more a Woman strives to please,
Always the greater Faults a Husband sees.
What Woman therefore, if it proves her Lot
To wed a studious Sage, or learned Sot,
Who among Calves-skin Doublets spends his Life,
And doats upon his Books, instead of Wife,
Would check the Freedom of her Tongue, to sooth
A cloister'd Temper, surly and uncouth,
That only with a marry'd State comply'd,
To have a Nurse, much rather than a Bride,
That you might preach up Duty to the Fool,
Teach her t'obey, whilst you usurp the Rule;
Make her believe she's taken from your Side,
To only gratify your Lust and Pride;
And that she's bound, by Marriage, to submit
To ev'ry Edict that her Lord thinks fit?
But 'tis not all your Gravity shall bring
My Temper to obey my nuptial King;
Nor all the artful Reas'nings you can shew,
Philosophize a Creature call'd a Shrew;
For since you find more Pleasure in your Books,
Than in my tender Arms; or youthful Looks,
Whene'er you reading sit, my Tongue shall walk,
And when most silent you, I'll loudest talk;
For starch'd Philosophy's in Wedlock worse,
And to a youthful Bride a greater Curse,
Than Woman's Tongue can be to you Philosophers.
My Temper to obey my nuptial King;
Nor all the artful Reas'nings you can shew,
Philosophize a Creature call'd a Shrew;
For since you find more Pleasure in your Books,
Than in my tender Arms; or youthful Looks,
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And when most silent you, I'll loudest talk;
For starch'd Philosophy's in Wedlock worse,
And to a youthful Bride a greater Curse,
Than Woman's Tongue can be to you Philosophers.
Philosopher.
Too late Experience tells me, to my Grief,
The marry'd Fool is curs'd beyond Relief:
His Ease and Wisdom he at once forsakes,
Who to his Arms a restless Woman takes.
I find, alas! in Wedlock there can be
No Room to exercise Philosophy.
It is a State by Providence design'd
To low'r our Pride, and level all Mankind;
The Anti-Room of Death, where Women rule,
And place the wise Man equal with the Fool:
Both are but Slaves to their enchanting Arms,
To Drudg'ry led in Triumph by their Charms;
Which, like fine Paintings, that amuse the Sight,
And touch the fond Spectator with Delight,
At a due Distance always best appear,
But lose their Witchcraft, when you come too near.
Wife.
So bookish Sots, like you, philosophize,
'Till, in your own Conceits, you're wond'rous wise.
Fancy, like Marble-Statues, you can bear
The Strokes of Fortune, and the Stabs of Care;
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Amidst those Torments weaker Minds endure;
But, when you're touch'd with Plagues that others feel,
I find your grave Philosophy must reel,
And all your Wisdom out of Season shown,
Prove but a broken Reed to lean upon.
So the rank Coward has sometimes believ'd
He's truly valiant, 'till he's undeceiv'd;
But when he sees the threat'ning Danger near,
His Blusters then are turn'd to pannick Fear.
Philosopher.
But true Philosophy preserves our Ease,
In spite of all the World's Uncertainties;
Right Contemplation arms the peaceful Breast
With divine Patience, when the most opprest;
Teaches us how to suffer, and despise
The Wrongs of those that proudly tyrannize;
To bear the worst Confinement or Restraint
Without Resentment, or the least Complaint;
To endure Poverty, Contempt, or Pain,
With comely Grace, and resolute Disdain,
That no Misfortune, tho' it's ne'er so great,
May reach the Mind, to thwart its happy State;
For he is only truly wise and brave,
That smiling can behold the gaping Grave,
In whose insatiate Cavity he knows
Next Moment he shall take his sweet Repose.
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And can a Man, so hardy and so wise,
That he can smile at Pain, and Want despise,
Be tortur'd by a foolish Woman's Tongue,
Because 'tis to her own Advantage hung?
Shame on your weak Pretences, to defy
Those Cares of Life no human Race can fly,
And yet at once give up your boasted Ease,
Unable to withstand a Woman's Tease.
'Tis strange the Prattle of a Wife should be
Too pow'rful for your whole Philosophy,
And at once conquer all those musty Rules,
Deriv'd from Heathen Books, and Christian Schools!
Do all your Vertues vanish, when I speak?
Are you unarm'd, when I my Silence break?
Have you no Patience, when your Wife is near?
Does Wisdom fly the Field, when I appear?
Can a weak Woman's verbal Thunder storm
A Mind no other Evils can allarm,
That uncontroul'd enjoys a happy State,
And scorns to flinch beneath the Frowns of Fate?
No, no, your Resolutions are too strong
To yield to the Assaults of Woman's Tongue;
Your Patience is impregnable, and fears
No Foe, that only can alarm your Ears;
Or else, like Fools, buoy'd up by mere Surmise,
You've, in a grave Philosopher's Disguise,
Slept o'er your Books, and only dreamt you're wise.
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Wisdom, the Mistress of the Soul, we find
Is the dear Darling of the studious Mind,
Deriv'd of Heav'n, by Contemplation rais'd
In human Thought, by all belov'd and prais'd.
By Pains and Study we must win the Prize,
Grace and right Thinking only makes us wise;
By one our Reason does the stronger grow,
By 'tother Gift we practise what we know.
But who, that in the Marriage-snare is caught,
Can raise his Soul upon the Wings of Thought?
Who claim a Place among the wiser Rank,
That once has out of that Church-Bucket drank?
What Mortal, toss'd in that tempestuous Sea,
Enjoys the Sweets of Peace and Harmony?
Or who in Wisdom's Search delight his Soul,
That daily hears such nuptial Thunder rowl?
No, no, the matrimonial Noose, my Dear,
Was ne'er design'd for a Philosopher;
For tho' the Wise, by Strength of Mind, withstand
The common Strokes of Fortune's heavy Hand,
Yet Reason's mighty Force, tho' ne'er so strong,
Join'd with habitual Vertue practis'd long,
Cannot forbear to tremble at a clam'rous Tongue.
Is the dear Darling of the studious Mind,
Deriv'd of Heav'n, by Contemplation rais'd
In human Thought, by all belov'd and prais'd.
By Pains and Study we must win the Prize,
Grace and right Thinking only makes us wise;
By one our Reason does the stronger grow,
By 'tother Gift we practise what we know.
But who, that in the Marriage-snare is caught,
Can raise his Soul upon the Wings of Thought?
Who claim a Place among the wiser Rank,
That once has out of that Church-Bucket drank?
What Mortal, toss'd in that tempestuous Sea,
Enjoys the Sweets of Peace and Harmony?
Or who in Wisdom's Search delight his Soul,
That daily hears such nuptial Thunder rowl?
No, no, the matrimonial Noose, my Dear,
Was ne'er design'd for a Philosopher;
For tho' the Wise, by Strength of Mind, withstand
The common Strokes of Fortune's heavy Hand,
Yet Reason's mighty Force, tho' ne'er so strong,
Join'd with habitual Vertue practis'd long,
Cannot forbear to tremble at a clam'rous Tongue.
So the bold true-bred Mastiff walks in State,
And peaceably secures his Master's Gate;
Bears the rude Snarls of little Curs with Scorn,
But hates the Clangor of the Gelder's Horn;
At ev'ry hideous Note he howls and yelps,
And shews as much Impatience as the lesser Whelps.
No marry'd Slave, that's chain'd within the Noise
Of a loud Tongue, and a tremendous Voice,
Can then be wise but must, like other Fools,
Start when he's teas'd, and flinch from Reason's Rules;
For sure no other Discord can out-do
The spiteful Tongue of a vexatious Shrew,
Within whose Sound no Thought can be employ'd,
No Patience exercis'd, no Peace enjoy'd;
For where ill-natur'd Passion vents its Spleen,
The Light'ning that the Touch-hole Ear takes in,
Fires all, and blows up Vertue's Magazine.
And peaceably secures his Master's Gate;
Bears the rude Snarls of little Curs with Scorn,
But hates the Clangor of the Gelder's Horn;
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And shews as much Impatience as the lesser Whelps.
No marry'd Slave, that's chain'd within the Noise
Of a loud Tongue, and a tremendous Voice,
Can then be wise but must, like other Fools,
Start when he's teas'd, and flinch from Reason's Rules;
For sure no other Discord can out-do
The spiteful Tongue of a vexatious Shrew,
Within whose Sound no Thought can be employ'd,
No Patience exercis'd, no Peace enjoy'd;
For where ill-natur'd Passion vents its Spleen,
The Light'ning that the Touch-hole Ear takes in,
Fires all, and blows up Vertue's Magazine.
No more, my Dear, must I pretend to be,
By Wisdom, happy in my self or thee;
I'm marry'd now, and destin'd to a State
That makes Men Fools by hearing Women prate.
Philosophy, I find, stands wisely off,
And scorns to dwell beneath a nuptial Roof;
Walks gravely with her solemn Sister Peace
In Cloisters, Shades, and Universities;
Hugs the soft Angel in her vertuous Breast;
Courts no Companion, but the Queen of Rest;
Shews, by her Aspect, that her Mind is glad,
And smiles to see the giddy World so mad.
No more shall I her happy Fav'rite be;
Now marry'd, with Contempt she looks on me;
Discards her Lover, that has broke her Rules,
And ranks me now among the wedded Fools.
By Wisdom, happy in my self or thee;
I'm marry'd now, and destin'd to a State
That makes Men Fools by hearing Women prate.
Philosophy, I find, stands wisely off,
And scorns to dwell beneath a nuptial Roof;
Walks gravely with her solemn Sister Peace
In Cloisters, Shades, and Universities;
Hugs the soft Angel in her vertuous Breast;
Courts no Companion, but the Queen of Rest;
Shews, by her Aspect, that her Mind is glad,
And smiles to see the giddy World so mad.
No more shall I her happy Fav'rite be;
Now marry'd, with Contempt she looks on me;
Discards her Lover, that has broke her Rules,
And ranks me now among the wedded Fools.
O! that I thus should incommode my Life,
And change so sweet a Mistress, for a Wife!
Give up the Pleasures of her dear Embrace,
For a loud Tongue, the worst of female Race,
In whose perpetual Motion Nothing's found,
But barren Nonsense, and provoking Sound.
This 'tis for Man, in his declining Years,
To quit a studious Life, for Marriage-Cares,
So Fools and Children, by Example led,
Will into miry Slows and Ditches wade,
Thus quit firm Ground, where they were dry and safe,
That Standers by may at their Folly laugh.
And change so sweet a Mistress, for a Wife!
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For a loud Tongue, the worst of female Race,
In whose perpetual Motion Nothing's found,
But barren Nonsense, and provoking Sound.
This 'tis for Man, in his declining Years,
To quit a studious Life, for Marriage-Cares,
So Fools and Children, by Example led,
Will into miry Slows and Ditches wade,
Thus quit firm Ground, where they were dry and safe,
That Standers by may at their Folly laugh.
Wife.
I must confess you're fitter to be ty'd
To your old Books, than to a youthful Bride;
Hard Study, for so grave and wise a Head,
Is more delightful, than a Marriage-Bed.
Wisdom, perhaps, your frozen Veins may heat,
And make you younger in your own Conceit;
Drive back old Time for twenty Years, or more,
And make you think you're thirty at threescore;
Perswade you to believe you could sustain,
Without the least Offence, the greatest Pain,
And, with unshaken Resolution, feel
The Force of scorching Flames, or pointed Steel;
Make Gout or Stone sit easy on your Mind,
And in the worst of Fits, no Torture find.
All these, without Experience, may agree
With the dull Systems of Philosophy;
But when you come to practise what you preach,
The hardy Cynick's but a cow'rdly Wretch,
No more, by Learning, from Impatience freed,
Than the dull rural Clown that ne're could read.
So Atheists to their Lusts and Passions given,
Who, in their Health, deny the Pow'r of Heaven,
When seiz'd with Sickness, Mercy they implore,
And dread those Flames they ridicul'd before.
To your old Books, than to a youthful Bride;
Hard Study, for so grave and wise a Head,
Is more delightful, than a Marriage-Bed.
Wisdom, perhaps, your frozen Veins may heat,
And make you younger in your own Conceit;
Drive back old Time for twenty Years, or more,
And make you think you're thirty at threescore;
Perswade you to believe you could sustain,
Without the least Offence, the greatest Pain,
And, with unshaken Resolution, feel
The Force of scorching Flames, or pointed Steel;
Make Gout or Stone sit easy on your Mind,
And in the worst of Fits, no Torture find.
All these, without Experience, may agree
With the dull Systems of Philosophy;
But when you come to practise what you preach,
The hardy Cynick's but a cow'rdly Wretch,
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Than the dull rural Clown that ne're could read.
So Atheists to their Lusts and Passions given,
Who, in their Health, deny the Pow'r of Heaven,
When seiz'd with Sickness, Mercy they implore,
And dread those Flames they ridicul'd before.
Therefore the nuptial Sheets have made you wise,
And shew'd your fancy'd Strength, but mere Surmise;
For now involv'd in Marriage-Cares, you see
The Weakness of your dull Philosophy,
And that your harsh, impracticable Rules
Are but the study'd Errors of the Schools,
That make not Men more wise, but greater Fools.
And shew'd your fancy'd Strength, but mere Surmise;
For now involv'd in Marriage-Cares, you see
The Weakness of your dull Philosophy,
And that your harsh, impracticable Rules
Are but the study'd Errors of the Schools,
That make not Men more wise, but greater Fools.
Mad Men, we find, will, in their frantick Fits,
Delight themselves in very odd Conceits;
Fancy they're seated on a silver Throne,
And that they're wealthy Emp'rors of the Moon;
But as dim Reason the Ascendance gains,
Their bright Dominions vanish from their Brains:
Then, tho' they find their lucid Empire fled,
And know 'twas only seated in the Head,
Yet they oft fall into a worse Extream
Of Madness, 'cause they've lost the happy Dream.
But when some teasing Station lets you see
You're not what you believ'd your selves to be,
You then, when undeceiv'd, grow mad indeed,
To find those Whims, in studious Fancy bred,
Give Ground when they should stand you most in Stead.
Delight themselves in very odd Conceits;
Fancy they're seated on a silver Throne,
And that they're wealthy Emp'rors of the Moon;
But as dim Reason the Ascendance gains,
Their bright Dominions vanish from their Brains:
Then, tho' they find their lucid Empire fled,
And know 'twas only seated in the Head,
Yet they oft fall into a worse Extream
Of Madness, 'cause they've lost the happy Dream.
But when some teasing Station lets you see
You're not what you believ'd your selves to be,
You then, when undeceiv'd, grow mad indeed,
To find those Whims, in studious Fancy bred,
Give Ground when they should stand you most in Stead.
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I own I'm craz'd with your eternal Tease,
Turn'd mad Man, Fool, or any Thing you please;
Unlearn'd, unpolish'd, thoughtless, apish, wild,
Fit only to be tutor'd like a Child;
A walking-Mate to pleasure Woman's Pride,
A Dog, an Ass, or any thing beside;
A Rogue, a Rascal, by my Stars misled
To the dark Drudg'ry of a nuptial Bed;
Doom'd to get squaling Brats, that they may be
As bad a Torment to my Ears, as thee;
A doating Ideot, fetter'd and undone;
A Staff for my dear Wife to lean upon;
A Cloak for female Vice, a foolish Sot,
Perhaps, to father what I ne'er begot.
Prithee, dear Help-mate, give me mad Man's Law,
A Chain, dark Room, a Porridge-Bowl, and Straw;
These, to a peaceful Mind, more easy prove,
Than all the bitter Joys of noisy Love,
Whose short-liv'd Pleasures but for Moments last,
And always are repented soon as past.
Who then, enamour'd with a studious Life,
Would change a peaceful State, for noisy Strife,
And sacrifice his Freedom to a jarring Wife?
Wife.
Since Men of Learning, Gravity, and Years,
Despise the Joys of Marriage, for its Cares,
And vent their Spleen against the female Race,
Because they're past the Sweets of their Embrace,
Well may the blooming Bride, brisk, young, and kind,
Possess'd of Beauty, and to Love inclin'd;
Of am'rous Warmth, and youthful Pleasures full,
Wedded to peevish Age, morose and dull,
Despise the wrinkl'd Brow, and feeble Veins
Of him, whose Worth consists alone in Brains.
What signifies her soft enticing Charms,
Doom'd to be only hugg'd by Icy Arms,
Whose cold Embraces ineffectual prove,
And rather chill, than warm a Bride with Love?
Despise the Joys of Marriage, for its Cares,
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Because they're past the Sweets of their Embrace,
Well may the blooming Bride, brisk, young, and kind,
Possess'd of Beauty, and to Love inclin'd;
Of am'rous Warmth, and youthful Pleasures full,
Wedded to peevish Age, morose and dull,
Despise the wrinkl'd Brow, and feeble Veins
Of him, whose Worth consists alone in Brains.
What signifies her soft enticing Charms,
Doom'd to be only hugg'd by Icy Arms,
Whose cold Embraces ineffectual prove,
And rather chill, than warm a Bride with Love?
Thus the old Fumbler labours, but in vain,
Does therefore what he cannot please, disdain;
Grows angry that his Years have made him chaste,
And rails at Joys he wants the Pow'r to taste;
Yet draws fresh Succour from her Charms each Day,
And basely lives upon his Wife's Decay.
So the old Eldern does its Life preserve,
By neighb'ring Plants she sucks from, till they starve;
And the young Oak, which might an Age survive,
Begirt with Ivy, never long can thrive.
Does therefore what he cannot please, disdain;
Grows angry that his Years have made him chaste,
And rails at Joys he wants the Pow'r to taste;
Yet draws fresh Succour from her Charms each Day,
And basely lives upon his Wife's Decay.
So the old Eldern does its Life preserve,
By neighb'ring Plants she sucks from, till they starve;
And the young Oak, which might an Age survive,
Begirt with Ivy, never long can thrive.
Therefore, since I, whilst blooming, bear the Tease
Of all your fumbling grave Infirmities;
Bed with such frozen Limbs, whose wither'd Hide,
Stuff'd full of Bones, benumb and gaul my Side,
Sure the Example of a Wife so young,
Might teach you how to bear a Woman's Tongue;
For no fair Shrew, to a grave Fumbler ty'd,
Can torture Age with all her noisy Pride,
More than an old Philosopher a youthful Bride.
Of all your fumbling grave Infirmities;
Bed with such frozen Limbs, whose wither'd Hide,
Stuff'd full of Bones, benumb and gaul my Side,
Sure the Example of a Wife so young,
Might teach you how to bear a Woman's Tongue;
235
Can torture Age with all her noisy Pride,
More than an old Philosopher a youthful Bride.
Philosopher.
Grey Hairs to female Youth may prove a Curse;
But Woman's Tongue to Man is ten times worse.
The older he, the quieter he proves;
The older she, the more her Clapper moves;
And the more Rest at Night the Husband takes,
By Day the more provoking Noise she makes.
So perverse Rebels always love to tease
That King the most, that's most inclin'd to Ease.
Who then can rule, without incessant Strife,
A factious Kingdom, or a scolding Wife?
Both labour to usurp the Pow'r supream,
One hoping to enslave the Diadem,
The other to subdue her marry'd Fool,
That the proud Scold the nuptial Throne may rule.
But curs'd is that poor Nation, ill it thrives,
By Faction govern'd; and those Husbands Lives
But wretched, who are triumph'd o'er by Wives.
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |