University of Virginia Library

—The Doctor smil'd, the curtains drew;—
And soon found Patrick's notions true.
'Twas now past ten, the Doctor gone,
The 'Squire and Ma'am were left alone,
And while he pac'd the parlour floor,
They talk'd their friend the Doctor o'er.
I've said before, the Dame so kind, Was always of her husband's mind;
And did so to his temper suit, That such a thing as a dispute
Had never happen'd from the hour,
When they both bow'd to Hymen's power:
Like Trueman's Cocks, who, at the Pit,
Could boast they never had a hit,
And this was true,—but then 'tis thought,
These self-same game-birds never fought.
To give assent and to obey Was here the order of the day.
For he was gen'rous, kind and free, The soul of hospitality,
And she knew how to give a grace To all the plenty of the place.
“My dear, I have a plan,” he said,
“Which is now working in my head,
And in it you must bear your part.”
Mrs. Hearty.—
That I will do with all my heart.

Hearty.—
The widow who has cast her weeds
Is tired of the life she leads.

Mrs. H.—
That is a truth which I well know,
For she has often told me so.

H.—
And sure she could not better do
Than marry Syntax; what think you?

Mrs. H.—
'Twould be the very thing my love!
Oh, she would fit him like a glove!

H.—
And if I'm not mistaken, he Would love her to idolatry!

Mrs. H.—
She's of the very make and trim
To suit just such a man as him.

H.—
He in his qualities and mind Must rank as of superior kind.
I think him a delightful creature:
But then in outward form and feature,
Say does he that appearance wear,
Which is most cherish'd by the fair?

Mrs. H.—
It is most true, his nut-brown face,
With his long chin devoid of grace,
And his droll manners may not prove, Incentives to a widow's love.

H.—
But who can tell what she may do,
When all his learning's brought in view?

Mrs. H.—
Indeed, my love, that's very true.

H.—
When so much Latin, so much Greek,
Does her approving favour seek;
When all the learning of all ages, Drawn from philosophers and sages,
Who liv'd renown'd in distant climes,
And are the boast of former times,
When they are brought her smiles to greet,
And laid devoutly at her feet;
They with his virtues and his name,
Might in her bosom raise a flame.

Mrs. H.—
O let him but those bellows blow,
And Love would soon be in a glow.

H.—
But after all there's no harm done,
Whether the Dame be lost or won:
Though if we should not lose our labour,
We shall procure a pleasant neighbour.
I love the Doctor,—so do you.

Mrs. H.—
Love him, my dear, aye that I do.

H.—
At least, I think we'll try the scheme,
Perhaps it may not prove a dream.

Mrs. H.—
As for the scheme, I scarce can doubt it;
And, if you please, we'll set about it.

H.—
To-morrow then you will prepare The Lady for her visitor:—
So when we've din'd, I will attend him,
And leave kind Cupid to befriend him.
The morning came, and breakfast done,
Th'important plan was thus begun.

Hearty.—
“I do not to fine words pretend,
But Syntax knows me for his friend.
I feel your loss, and kindly share it, And much I wish you to repair it.
For your late wife your grief to smother,
There's but one way,—why get another:
And I can, as I hope, provide, A comely, rich, accomplish'd bride.
We have a friend within the city, Who is not old, and still is pretty:
She learning loves and learned men,
Reads books, and can employ her pen:
Admires your works, repeats your name,
And with her praise adorns your fame:
Speaks French, and plays upon the lute,
And will your taste exactly suit.
A Lady's age is seldom known: 'Tis said, indeed, she's thirty-one;
But were I ask'd her years to fix, I might suspect them thirty-six;
Nor would she yet be out of date, Supposing she was thirty-eight.
Besides she has a jointure clear, Of full five hundred pounds a year:
The mansion, too, is all her own,
Which might a Bishop's wishes crown.”

Syntax.—
“I thank you, my most valued friend,
For all the good which you intend;
But 'tis the morning of my grief: I look not yet for such relief
As you propose: It is too soon:— O let me wait at least till noon!”

Hearty.—
“What is the honey-moon! The time
When married love is in its prime:
When all the sweets have been enjoy'd,
And many a love-sick pair is cloy'd;
Whose joys are not suppos'd to last,
When that fix'd, stated period's past.
But when th'enliv'ning season's over The husband is no more the lover;
Then common sense assumes its turn,
Cupid's bright torches cease to burn,
And married folk may then jog on,
As I and my good wife have done.
And faith I do not see the reason,
Why sorrow should not have its season:
Why, while a Moon for Joy we borrow,
We may not do the same for Sorrow;
Why a good husband, such as you,
When he has mourn'd a month or two,
Should not then seize the fav'ring hour,
To haste again to Hymen's bower:
'Tis downright folly to refuse it, And your superior sense will chuse it.
Turn the thing over in your mind, And then as soon as we have din'd,
You shall with a Knight-errant spirit,
Which I well know that you inherit,
Go and declare your rightful claim To ask the favour of the dame,
Your speech you, as a lance, will wield,
Your wit will prove a powerful shield,
And I've no doubt you'll gain the field.
But e'en should not the prize be won, No ill ensues, no harm is done.”