The Works of Mr. Robert Gould In Two Volumes. Consisting of those Poems [and] Satyrs Which were formerly Printed, and Corrected since by the Author; As also of the many more which He Design'd for the Press. Publish'd from his Own Original Copies [by Robert Gould] |
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THE STEP-MOTHER,
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 | The Works of Mr. Robert Gould |  |
51
THE STEP-MOTHER,
A SATYR: Written to a Disinherited Son.
TO My Reverend Friend Mr. ---
Of all the Crimes with which the fairer Sex
Their Selves and us (their Better selves) perplex,
There's none deserve a Treatment so Severe
As those that fall to a Step-Mother's Share:
There's not a Devil damn'd but may as soon
Hope for Salvation—as we'll shew anon.
Their Selves and us (their Better selves) perplex,
There's none deserve a Treatment so Severe
As those that fall to a Step-Mother's Share:
There's not a Devil damn'd but may as soon
Hope for Salvation—as we'll shew anon.
The Strumpet who by Prostitution lives,
And in that Court, but curs'd, Vocation thrives,
All Arts must try, and all her Snares must lay,
With Pleasures soften, and with Smiles betray;
Now chill her Lover with a forc'd disdain,
And when he can no longer bear the Pain
Look pleas'd, and warm Him into Lust again:
While He, by choice, dissolving in her Arms,
Has not a Wish, or Hope beyond her Charms.
And in that Court, but curs'd, Vocation thrives,
All Arts must try, and all her Snares must lay,
With Pleasures soften, and with Smiles betray;
Now chill her Lover with a forc'd disdain,
And when he can no longer bear the Pain
Look pleas'd, and warm Him into Lust again:
52
Has not a Wish, or Hope beyond her Charms.
The Bawd, 'tis true, of Subt'ler Venom's made,
A Devil in her Diligence and Trade:
Both Men and Women She at once ensnares,
And the more Beaute'ous, there the least She spares.
In vain the Fair a Vertu'ous Life designs,
Her best Defences soon She undermines:
By what themselves did in their Youth require,
They know the Secret Springs that move Desire,
And make the Tinder fit to catch the Fire.
Secure of them, they next the Coxcomb ply,
And Swear they've brought him a Virginity:
So to the next; and so to ev'ry one,
Till not a Fop has miss'd it thro' the Town.
A Devil in her Diligence and Trade:
Both Men and Women She at once ensnares,
And the more Beaute'ous, there the least She spares.
In vain the Fair a Vertu'ous Life designs,
Her best Defences soon She undermines:
By what themselves did in their Youth require,
They know the Secret Springs that move Desire,
And make the Tinder fit to catch the Fire.
Secure of them, they next the Coxcomb ply,
And Swear they've brought him a Virginity:
So to the next; and so to ev'ry one,
Till not a Fop has miss'd it thro' the Town.
But what are all this Beldams specious Wiles,
Or yet th'Alluring Harlot's Frowns and Smiles
To Vertue well Resolv'd?—with the strong Arms
Of Chastity we break thro' all their Charms;
Where that Presides, and Honour holds the Rein,
Lust has no Force, and Pleasure courts in vain.
Or yet th'Alluring Harlot's Frowns and Smiles
To Vertue well Resolv'd?—with the strong Arms
Of Chastity we break thro' all their Charms;
Where that Presides, and Honour holds the Rein,
Lust has no Force, and Pleasure courts in vain.
Thus far w' are safe; at least 'tis in our Pow'r,
If we will tread this Path, to walk Secure.
But Ah! What Vertue, Wisdom, Valour, Wit,
Or ought Mankind cou'd ever boast of yet,
Can keep us, with their utmost Caution, free
From a Step-Mother's watchful Cruelty?
When Envy meditates a Secret throw,
And whence it comes we neither see nor know,
It is Impossible to ward the Blow.
Unknown the Cause, we find the Root is dry
That shou'd with Sap our Vital growth supply:
We look like Leaves that are at Autumn seen,
And she like Bays and Lawrel, ever Green.
In her old Dotard's feeble Arms she lies,
And kindly with his Impotence complies;
And when his Vigor's ready to expire,
Molds his cold Clay, and warms it to Desire,
And blows the Ember's till she find the Fire;
At once his Body and his Coffer drains,
And leaves his Purse as empty as his Veins.
Yet still she flatters, fondles and attends,
But shifts the Scene when she has gain'd her Ends:
His former Children then we treated find
As if they were the Monsters of their Kind:
Their Fau'ts, if Mole-Hills, are as Mountains rais'd,
And all their Vertues down to Vice debas'd;
His ever blam'd, and Hers for ever Prais'd.
He hears, believes;—and, last, on Her and Hers
Does Settle all; deprives his former Heirs
Of his Estate, his Blessing, and his Prayers.
If we will tread this Path, to walk Secure.
But Ah! What Vertue, Wisdom, Valour, Wit,
Or ought Mankind cou'd ever boast of yet,
Can keep us, with their utmost Caution, free
From a Step-Mother's watchful Cruelty?
When Envy meditates a Secret throw,
And whence it comes we neither see nor know,
It is Impossible to ward the Blow.
Unknown the Cause, we find the Root is dry
That shou'd with Sap our Vital growth supply:
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And she like Bays and Lawrel, ever Green.
In her old Dotard's feeble Arms she lies,
And kindly with his Impotence complies;
And when his Vigor's ready to expire,
Molds his cold Clay, and warms it to Desire,
And blows the Ember's till she find the Fire;
At once his Body and his Coffer drains,
And leaves his Purse as empty as his Veins.
Yet still she flatters, fondles and attends,
But shifts the Scene when she has gain'd her Ends:
His former Children then we treated find
As if they were the Monsters of their Kind:
Their Fau'ts, if Mole-Hills, are as Mountains rais'd,
And all their Vertues down to Vice debas'd;
His ever blam'd, and Hers for ever Prais'd.
He hears, believes;—and, last, on Her and Hers
Does Settle all; deprives his former Heirs
Of his Estate, his Blessing, and his Prayers.
Why shou'd long Life so many Myriad's please,
If Age betray us to such Crimes as these?
'Twere better far we with the First had dy'd,
Than with a Second Wife remove so wide
As to admit Injustice for a Guide.
How can we boast of being Good or Wise
(Unless, like Women, we are all Disguise)
When we are Agents in our own Deceit,
And palm upon our Selves so gross a Cheat?
Forget the Ties of Wedlock, Virtue, Blood,
To make a Drab delight in being Lewd?
For of Step-Mothers we ev'n Proof might bring,
That, tho' a Wife's the Name, a Jilt's the Thing.
If Age betray us to such Crimes as these?
'Twere better far we with the First had dy'd,
Than with a Second Wife remove so wide
As to admit Injustice for a Guide.
How can we boast of being Good or Wise
(Unless, like Women, we are all Disguise)
When we are Agents in our own Deceit,
And palm upon our Selves so gross a Cheat?
Forget the Ties of Wedlock, Virtue, Blood,
To make a Drab delight in being Lewd?
For of Step-Mothers we ev'n Proof might bring,
That, tho' a Wife's the Name, a Jilt's the Thing.
But least this Truth Extravagant appear,
(For Truth we grant may often be Severe,)
Have Patience, while we faithfully describe
The vilest, and most frontless of her Tribe:
Th'Occasion's fair, the Tragedy is True,
And, what may make it take the more, 'tis New.
(For Truth we grant may often be Severe,)
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The vilest, and most frontless of her Tribe:
Th'Occasion's fair, the Tragedy is True,
And, what may make it take the more, 'tis New.
Damon, of Gener'ous Parts, was Marry'd Young:
And in Aminta's Arms was happy long:
With her Large Dowry She increas'd his Store;
Happy in that, but in her Vertues more.
Ne'er had a Creature of the Charming Race
More Truth and Sweetness writ upon her Face.
The Fortune which she brought advanc'd so fast,
Like Midas, all he touch'd was Gold at last:
And that which was but a Genteel, of late,
Is now a noble and a vast Estate.
On Her Foundation was the Fabrick built,
Of Thousands not a Farthing got with Guilt.
But Fate's uncertain;—who cou'd ever yet
Enjoy below a Happiness compleat?
For now Aminta chang'd her Earthly State,
Torn from his Arms by a Relentless Fate.
One Weeping, only Son She left behind,
With all her Goodness stampt upon his Mind,
Whom, e'er She dy'd, into her Arms She took,
And thus bespoke her Damon with a dying Look.
And in Aminta's Arms was happy long:
With her Large Dowry She increas'd his Store;
Happy in that, but in her Vertues more.
Ne'er had a Creature of the Charming Race
More Truth and Sweetness writ upon her Face.
The Fortune which she brought advanc'd so fast,
Like Midas, all he touch'd was Gold at last:
And that which was but a Genteel, of late,
Is now a noble and a vast Estate.
On Her Foundation was the Fabrick built,
Of Thousands not a Farthing got with Guilt.
But Fate's uncertain;—who cou'd ever yet
Enjoy below a Happiness compleat?
For now Aminta chang'd her Earthly State,
Torn from his Arms by a Relentless Fate.
One Weeping, only Son She left behind,
With all her Goodness stampt upon his Mind,
Whom, e'er She dy'd, into her Arms She took,
And thus bespoke her Damon with a dying Look.
Tho' of my Life You'll be this Hour bereft;
This Pledge of my unspoted Love is left;
As He's Your own I know you'll Tender be;
Be not less so when You Remember me.
If dying Words have any Power to move,
If there be Force in Tears, or Charms in Love,
I here adjure You, by our former Joy,
Be kind to this now half-forsaken Boy;
Th'Estate which Heav'n so freely to us gave,
Don't to another Woman's Children leave.
Nor let his Fau'ts, when He's to Manhood grown,
(For who was e'er so Vertu'ous to have none?)
Make You forget He is Aminta's Son!
A Burst of Grief Seiz'd Damon here all o'er;
O Doubt me not, He cry'd,—And cou'd no more!
In Tears he granted what the Dame requir'd,
While in his Arms the best of Wives expir'd.
But Silence will declare his Sorrow best,
For 'twas so Great it cannot be exprest.
In vain he beat his Breast, and tore his Hair,
And call'd on Her that was no more to hear!
Ah! why must Vertue make so short a Stay?
And for so long a Space be snatcht away?
Eternal Darkness! And a Moment's Day!
This Pledge of my unspoted Love is left;
As He's Your own I know you'll Tender be;
Be not less so when You Remember me.
If dying Words have any Power to move,
If there be Force in Tears, or Charms in Love,
I here adjure You, by our former Joy,
Be kind to this now half-forsaken Boy;
Th'Estate which Heav'n so freely to us gave,
Don't to another Woman's Children leave.
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(For who was e'er so Vertu'ous to have none?)
Make You forget He is Aminta's Son!
A Burst of Grief Seiz'd Damon here all o'er;
O Doubt me not, He cry'd,—And cou'd no more!
In Tears he granted what the Dame requir'd,
While in his Arms the best of Wives expir'd.
But Silence will declare his Sorrow best,
For 'twas so Great it cannot be exprest.
In vain he beat his Breast, and tore his Hair,
And call'd on Her that was no more to hear!
Ah! why must Vertue make so short a Stay?
And for so long a Space be snatcht away?
Eternal Darkness! And a Moment's Day!
But where's that Beauty so Divinely Bright,
Who, if She's took for ever from our Sight,
Leaves when She's gone, imprinted on the Mind,
So fair an Image of her Self behind,
That to her Memory we confine our View,
And not look out for Objects that are new?
A Second Choice in Love w'are not refus'd;
That Liberty e'en Wisest Men have us'd;
And so far Damon justly stands excus'd.
Who, if She's took for ever from our Sight,
Leaves when She's gone, imprinted on the Mind,
So fair an Image of her Self behind,
That to her Memory we confine our View,
And not look out for Objects that are new?
A Second Choice in Love w'are not refus'd;
That Liberty e'en Wisest Men have us'd;
And so far Damon justly stands excus'd.
But when to fill her Place he had before,
He took a Creature Idle, Proud and Poor,
Lascivious, so by Consequence a Whore;
One that had neither Beauty, Wit, or Youth,
Good Humour, Breeding, Piety, or Truth;
But from the Station rais'd of Wiping Shooes,
To be Successor to so chast a Spouse;
The World may well with it's severest Voice,
As justly tax the Error of the Choice.
He took a Creature Idle, Proud and Poor,
Lascivious, so by Consequence a Whore;
One that had neither Beauty, Wit, or Youth,
Good Humour, Breeding, Piety, or Truth;
But from the Station rais'd of Wiping Shooes,
To be Successor to so chast a Spouse;
The World may well with it's severest Voice,
As justly tax the Error of the Choice.
56
Sure there's a Time when all our Vertues keep
A Rest, just as the Body does in Sleep;
When the Neglected Pass unguarded lies,
And one weak Vice does their whole Strength Surprize:
So Damon must be taken, unprepar'd,
When not one Caution stood upon his Guard.
Had He but us'd his Hearing, Scent, or Sight,
He'd not have made a Monster his Delight,
That never Man beside beheld without a Fright;
A Vain, Perverse, Invete'rate Noisy Thing,
And not a Drop of Hony with her Sting.
A Rest, just as the Body does in Sleep;
When the Neglected Pass unguarded lies,
And one weak Vice does their whole Strength Surprize:
So Damon must be taken, unprepar'd,
When not one Caution stood upon his Guard.
Had He but us'd his Hearing, Scent, or Sight,
He'd not have made a Monster his Delight,
That never Man beside beheld without a Fright;
A Vain, Perverse, Invete'rate Noisy Thing,
And not a Drop of Hony with her Sting.
A while with Art her Nature She conceal'd,
Nor was it till She had a Son Reveal'd;
A Son not gotten with a Lover's Rage,
But piec'd together with the Dregs of Age:
Or rather, as by all 'tis likelier thought,
By some rude Clown with too much hast begot;
Whom she (which was enough to Spoil the Boy)
Did in her Fears of being found Employ,
And snatch'd a crude, and half abortive Joy:
The Issue, like the Sport, (where half was wast,)
Does look as it were molded up in hast:
A Peevish Rittl'ing with a Thousand Ails,
As still 'tis where the Mother's part prevails.
Here Damon did afresh his Weakness shew,
And as he older yet the fonder grew;
And was at last so fatally deceiv'd,
Tho' Hell was scarce so false, not Heav'n was more believ'd.
Here she was safe, her Reign she dated hence;
(The Favorites Reign is fatal to the Prince:)
And first her Son in Law must be remov'd,
Absent, She thought He wou'd be less belov'd:
But tho' abroad with fair Pretences sent,
It might be rather call'd his Banishment.
For now no longer She consulted Fear,
The Way to her Design did Smooth appear,
Which was to put him by from being Heir.
In order to't the Father's Ears She plies,
And loads the Youth with odious Calumnies,
One Truth attended with Ten Thousand Lyes;
Worse than the Devil, her Instructer meant,
And all but what a Woman cou'd invent.
Yet She wou'd Weep her Scandals to relate
Revile her Fortune, and exclaim at Fate
That forc't her such flagitious Truths to tell
Of One, whom she so lately lov'd so well;
Those Truths which He shou'd long before have known,
Had the offending Villain been her Own.
Absent alas! How cou'd he make Defence?
Or Present, what had been his Innocence
Before an Angry Judge? A Witness by,
A Lady of the Post, to vouch the Lye,
And One whose smallest Crime was Perjury.
Nor was it till She had a Son Reveal'd;
A Son not gotten with a Lover's Rage,
But piec'd together with the Dregs of Age:
Or rather, as by all 'tis likelier thought,
By some rude Clown with too much hast begot;
Whom she (which was enough to Spoil the Boy)
Did in her Fears of being found Employ,
And snatch'd a crude, and half abortive Joy:
The Issue, like the Sport, (where half was wast,)
Does look as it were molded up in hast:
A Peevish Rittl'ing with a Thousand Ails,
As still 'tis where the Mother's part prevails.
Here Damon did afresh his Weakness shew,
And as he older yet the fonder grew;
And was at last so fatally deceiv'd,
Tho' Hell was scarce so false, not Heav'n was more believ'd.
Here she was safe, her Reign she dated hence;
(The Favorites Reign is fatal to the Prince:)
And first her Son in Law must be remov'd,
Absent, She thought He wou'd be less belov'd:
But tho' abroad with fair Pretences sent,
It might be rather call'd his Banishment.
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The Way to her Design did Smooth appear,
Which was to put him by from being Heir.
In order to't the Father's Ears She plies,
And loads the Youth with odious Calumnies,
One Truth attended with Ten Thousand Lyes;
Worse than the Devil, her Instructer meant,
And all but what a Woman cou'd invent.
Yet She wou'd Weep her Scandals to relate
Revile her Fortune, and exclaim at Fate
That forc't her such flagitious Truths to tell
Of One, whom she so lately lov'd so well;
Those Truths which He shou'd long before have known,
Had the offending Villain been her Own.
Absent alas! How cou'd he make Defence?
Or Present, what had been his Innocence
Before an Angry Judge? A Witness by,
A Lady of the Post, to vouch the Lye,
And One whose smallest Crime was Perjury.
Wretch'd is He that does too soon believe,
But more accurs'd who does that Wretch deceive;
The Serpent was more Criminal than Eve,
And She than Adam; (Skillful in the Art,
How soon she learn'd to Act a Devil's Part!)
He, with his Rib, had stood, and Damon too,
But for his Wife, had kept the Goal in view,
Nor to that Utmost Bound of Rigour run
Of Casting out so Dutiful a Son.
But as when a Young Criminal is took
In his first Fau't, and having in his Look
Some small Remains of Innocence behind,
He moves the Judge, and makes the Jury kind;
Who, hoping he may Mend, his Pardon Seal;
But his Seducer does their Fury feel:
So Mercy to the Tempted may be shown,
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have none.
But more accurs'd who does that Wretch deceive;
The Serpent was more Criminal than Eve,
And She than Adam; (Skillful in the Art,
How soon she learn'd to Act a Devil's Part!)
He, with his Rib, had stood, and Damon too,
But for his Wife, had kept the Goal in view,
Nor to that Utmost Bound of Rigour run
Of Casting out so Dutiful a Son.
But as when a Young Criminal is took
In his first Fau't, and having in his Look
Some small Remains of Innocence behind,
He moves the Judge, and makes the Jury kind;
Who, hoping he may Mend, his Pardon Seal;
But his Seducer does their Fury feel:
58
But Tempters, who are Devils, can have none.
Thus won at last as Samson was of old,
(But by an Uglier Jilt, and louder Scold;)
Or rather quite bewitcht, and given up
To tast the Bottom of that Bitter Cup,
Forgets the Chast Aminta's dying Prayer
And makes the Bantling of this Drab his Heir!
(But by an Uglier Jilt, and louder Scold;)
Or rather quite bewitcht, and given up
To tast the Bottom of that Bitter Cup,
Forgets the Chast Aminta's dying Prayer
And makes the Bantling of this Drab his Heir!
The Soul of his Departed Spouse look'd down
On the Rash Deed, and scarce forbore to frown;
Wonder'd how Vows, design'd when they were spoke
To last so long, cou'd be so quickly broke!
But more, a Vitious Woman shou'd have Pow'r
The Harvest of her Labours to Devour,
And blast the Groth of Ages in an Hour.—
But tho' his Fau't did thus her Mind employ
It yet was no Abatement to her Joy;
For if depriv'd but of a Moments Rest,
How can the Saints Eternally be blest?
Thus, all Serene, she let this Language fall,
Soft as the Down of Doves, without a Gall.
On the Rash Deed, and scarce forbore to frown;
Wonder'd how Vows, design'd when they were spoke
To last so long, cou'd be so quickly broke!
But more, a Vitious Woman shou'd have Pow'r
The Harvest of her Labours to Devour,
And blast the Groth of Ages in an Hour.—
But tho' his Fau't did thus her Mind employ
It yet was no Abatement to her Joy;
For if depriv'd but of a Moments Rest,
How can the Saints Eternally be blest?
Thus, all Serene, she let this Language fall,
Soft as the Down of Doves, without a Gall.
'Tis no Surprize, since Man is made so frail,
That Int'rest, Passion, Pride and Lust prevail.
But if, cry'd she, as Sacred Writ does tell,
The Wisest, Strongest, and the Best have fell,
Weakly by fatal Female Charms ensnar'd,
Some took by Force, and others unprepar'd,
And some that Strictly stood upon their Guard;
And if we rather Pity these than blame,
Then Charity for Damon pleads the same.
Beside, tho' all Men fall into Offence,
All Men may rise again by Penitence.
Then since thy Death, O Damon! I fore-see,
(For here our Eyes are clear'd, to view Futuritie;)
Heav'n give thee Grace thy Follies past to mourn,
And see the Wrongs my wretched Son has born;
O do not lightly such a Crime Survey,
But wash in Streams of Tears your Guilt away!
That when you from her faithless Arms disjoyn,
You hither may to Extasies Divine
Ascend, and be once more—and ever—Mine!
That Int'rest, Passion, Pride and Lust prevail.
But if, cry'd she, as Sacred Writ does tell,
The Wisest, Strongest, and the Best have fell,
Weakly by fatal Female Charms ensnar'd,
Some took by Force, and others unprepar'd,
And some that Strictly stood upon their Guard;
And if we rather Pity these than blame,
Then Charity for Damon pleads the same.
Beside, tho' all Men fall into Offence,
All Men may rise again by Penitence.
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(For here our Eyes are clear'd, to view Futuritie;)
Heav'n give thee Grace thy Follies past to mourn,
And see the Wrongs my wretched Son has born;
O do not lightly such a Crime Survey,
But wash in Streams of Tears your Guilt away!
That when you from her faithless Arms disjoyn,
You hither may to Extasies Divine
Ascend, and be once more—and ever—Mine!
Thus Spoke the Shade; a Lambent Brightness round
Her Temples play'd, with Wreaths of Glory bound.
Purg'd from the Dross of a Terrestrial Mind,
The Blest are all Propitious to Mankind:
Who knows but that our near Relations here,
Advanc'd, may be our Guardian-Angels there?
And tho' we don't their Mediation need,
(A Greater having to Himself decreed
That Work for Sinful Man to Intercede;)
No doubt they pray all Blessings Earth can share
We here may have; and, last,—a Crown of Glory there.
Her Temples play'd, with Wreaths of Glory bound.
Purg'd from the Dross of a Terrestrial Mind,
The Blest are all Propitious to Mankind:
Who knows but that our near Relations here,
Advanc'd, may be our Guardian-Angels there?
And tho' we don't their Mediation need,
(A Greater having to Himself decreed
That Work for Sinful Man to Intercede;)
No doubt they pray all Blessings Earth can share
We here may have; and, last,—a Crown of Glory there.
But Damon's fatal Hour is now arriv'd;
Too kind, alas! to be much longer liv'd.
To a Step-Mother nothing seems unjust
That does advance her Pride, Revenge, or Lust:
Her End obtain'd, She fears he may Repent,
And takes a black Resolve up to Prevent.
Just so, 'tis thought, a Factious Crew, e'er while,
Did serve a Gracious Monarch of an Isle;
First to preserve 'em, begg'd Him to comply,
And when h'ad set 'em up, they laid him by.
But tho' she thought his Hour of Grace was past
This great Deceiver was Deceiv'd at last:
For something Heav'nly purg'd his Blinded Eyes,
And then He saw Her Love was all Disguise;
He saw her Will was Vain, her Mind Unjust,
Her Idol, Interest, and her Fondness, Lust.
But Frontless, now, as well as Indiscreet,
She took no care to hide her Cloven-Feet;
The Fiend appear'd; and 'twas discover'd plain
Her Joy was heightn'd by her Husband's Pain.
He Saw, but 'twas too Late; his Will was made,
And on his Death-bed he securely laid:
Her Instruments were all Officious round;
But not a Friend of his Admittance found,
To whom he might his Dying Mind declare,
Or call for Mercy in a Mutual Prayer.
Yet, e'er his Lab'ring Heart was wholly broke,
He thus the Monster of her Kind bespoke.
Too kind, alas! to be much longer liv'd.
To a Step-Mother nothing seems unjust
That does advance her Pride, Revenge, or Lust:
Her End obtain'd, She fears he may Repent,
And takes a black Resolve up to Prevent.
Just so, 'tis thought, a Factious Crew, e'er while,
Did serve a Gracious Monarch of an Isle;
First to preserve 'em, begg'd Him to comply,
And when h'ad set 'em up, they laid him by.
But tho' she thought his Hour of Grace was past
This great Deceiver was Deceiv'd at last:
60
And then He saw Her Love was all Disguise;
He saw her Will was Vain, her Mind Unjust,
Her Idol, Interest, and her Fondness, Lust.
But Frontless, now, as well as Indiscreet,
She took no care to hide her Cloven-Feet;
The Fiend appear'd; and 'twas discover'd plain
Her Joy was heightn'd by her Husband's Pain.
He Saw, but 'twas too Late; his Will was made,
And on his Death-bed he securely laid:
Her Instruments were all Officious round;
But not a Friend of his Admittance found,
To whom he might his Dying Mind declare,
Or call for Mercy in a Mutual Prayer.
Yet, e'er his Lab'ring Heart was wholly broke,
He thus the Monster of her Kind bespoke.
Too late, alass! I find my self deceiv'd,
And at my Dying Hour of PEACE bereav'd;
A Wife's an ANGEL till she is Believ'd;
Grant but that Point, th'Ascendant soon she gains,
And bloody as a GALLICK Tyrant Reigns:
No thought of Right does e'er her Mind possess,
But hardens more, the more she's us'd with Tenderness.
Compare our Faults, Excessive Love was Mine;
The last degree of Bosom-Treach'ry, Thine.
Thy Son's Advance, design'd by Worthy Ways,
Instead of my Rebuke, had met my Praise:
I for thy Issue cou'd have nobly done,
Without my DISINHERITING my Own.
But think not, Barb'rous Woman, Heav'n will still
Assert Your Cause, and Prosper You in Ill:
Think not th'Estate (for Veng'ance is Divine)
Will long Continue in Your Bastard Line;
For ev'n I, Dying, think it none of Mine:
No, no; my dear AMINTA's out-cast Son
Will one Day come to repossess his Own;
There's but a Breath betwixt, e'er He is Due
May come to gain, and thou this Usage rue:—
But I forgive Thee—Heav'n forgive Thee too!
He ended here—a Scene to be admir'd—
She Laught, and He (all Penitence) expir'd.
And at my Dying Hour of PEACE bereav'd;
A Wife's an ANGEL till she is Believ'd;
Grant but that Point, th'Ascendant soon she gains,
And bloody as a GALLICK Tyrant Reigns:
No thought of Right does e'er her Mind possess,
But hardens more, the more she's us'd with Tenderness.
Compare our Faults, Excessive Love was Mine;
The last degree of Bosom-Treach'ry, Thine.
Thy Son's Advance, design'd by Worthy Ways,
Instead of my Rebuke, had met my Praise:
I for thy Issue cou'd have nobly done,
Without my DISINHERITING my Own.
But think not, Barb'rous Woman, Heav'n will still
Assert Your Cause, and Prosper You in Ill:
Think not th'Estate (for Veng'ance is Divine)
Will long Continue in Your Bastard Line;
For ev'n I, Dying, think it none of Mine:
61
Will one Day come to repossess his Own;
There's but a Breath betwixt, e'er He is Due
May come to gain, and thou this Usage rue:—
But I forgive Thee—Heav'n forgive Thee too!
He ended here—a Scene to be admir'd—
She Laught, and He (all Penitence) expir'd.
Thus did the Punk expel the Lawful Heir;
And yet her Boundless Malice Stops not there:
His Fame she hourly Labours to expose
Whom e'er she talks with, or where e'er she goes:
Pursues him with that Rancour, Rage and Spite,
A Basilisk does Poison less with Sight,
And Adders don't with half that Venom bite:
To paint Her in a Word, and shew her whole,
She Thro' his Body strives to Stab his Soul:
And all for fear He shou'd th'Estate attain,
And she be forc'd of Fortune to complain,
Not that She's Damn'd—but that She's Damn'd in Vain.
Mean while the Youth has ever, undismay'd,
A Noble Use of his Afflictions made;
And does his Wrongs so slenderly regard,
He only smiling says—His Case is hard.
And yet her Boundless Malice Stops not there:
His Fame she hourly Labours to expose
Whom e'er she talks with, or where e'er she goes:
Pursues him with that Rancour, Rage and Spite,
A Basilisk does Poison less with Sight,
And Adders don't with half that Venom bite:
To paint Her in a Word, and shew her whole,
She Thro' his Body strives to Stab his Soul:
And all for fear He shou'd th'Estate attain,
And she be forc'd of Fortune to complain,
Not that She's Damn'd—but that She's Damn'd in Vain.
Mean while the Youth has ever, undismay'd,
A Noble Use of his Afflictions made;
And does his Wrongs so slenderly regard,
He only smiling says—His Case is hard.
Thus far, O Friend, th'Injunction late You laid
Is with Exactest Probity obey'd:
I told You what a Barb'rous Wretch I knew
How from the Dung, She like a Pumpkin grew,
And your Command was Strait to let her know
How far the Satyr's Privilege cou'd go,
To rip her Mind, and all her Vices show:
And one's enough; the Nature of the rest
May from the Wickedness of this be guess'd.
But while this Youth's Misfortunes here are shown
You by Reflection may perceive Your Own:
Your Story is the Parallel of this;
And the two Female Furies of a Piece:
Take then his Course; and tho' a vast Estate
Y'ave lost like Him, Submit like Him to Fate.
Rage is but vain, and needless Grief a Crime;
Who knows what's Rip'ning in the Womb of Time?
Tho' Heav'n may long seem to with-hold his Hand,
'Tis but to hurl with greater Force the Brand;
Then down the Flaming Precipice they'll go,
Ten Thousand Terrors He'll around 'em throw,
And not one Devil will be Damn'd so low.
Is with Exactest Probity obey'd:
I told You what a Barb'rous Wretch I knew
How from the Dung, She like a Pumpkin grew,
And your Command was Strait to let her know
How far the Satyr's Privilege cou'd go,
To rip her Mind, and all her Vices show:
And one's enough; the Nature of the rest
May from the Wickedness of this be guess'd.
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You by Reflection may perceive Your Own:
Your Story is the Parallel of this;
And the two Female Furies of a Piece:
Take then his Course; and tho' a vast Estate
Y'ave lost like Him, Submit like Him to Fate.
Rage is but vain, and needless Grief a Crime;
Who knows what's Rip'ning in the Womb of Time?
Tho' Heav'n may long seem to with-hold his Hand,
'Tis but to hurl with greater Force the Brand;
Then down the Flaming Precipice they'll go,
Ten Thousand Terrors He'll around 'em throw,
And not one Devil will be Damn'd so low.
| The Works of Mr. Robert Gould | |