University of Virginia Library

Bumpkin.—
“Doctor, I hope you know me better
Than to suppose that I can fetter
My sports and pleasures to the will
Of that same tongue that ne'er lies still:
You saw what pretty airs she gave As if I were a very slave;
But, my good friend, as you were by I did not chuse to look awry.
Nor would I wound your rev'rend cloth,
By rapping out a swinging oath,
Which, but from my respect to you, I was full well inclin'd to do,
And would at once have brought her to.
Yes, she may toss her head and hector,
But she shall have a curtain lecture:
I'll make the saucy madam weep, Believe me, ere she goes to sleep.
I married Mary for her beauty, And faith I'll make her do her duty.
Pray tell me, friend, what means you took
When a pert speech or haughty look
Was darted at you from your wife, And threaten'd matrimonial strife?”

Syntax.—
“She never spoke a saucy word,
She ne'er an angry look preferr'd:
Affection dwelt within her eye And all her speech was harmony:
But let I pray that subject rest, Nor wake the sorrows of my breast.
For here I came on pleasure bent
To share your well-known merriment,
And find good humour and content;
My gloomy fancies to beguile And learn from you a cordial smile.
Come, come, a foaming bumper quaff,
And let me hear you loudly laugh.”
This counsel given in solemn measure,
Appear'd to check the 'Squire's displeasure;
But though his spirits ceas'd to flutter,
His pouting lips were seen to mutter.
At length the coffee was announc'd:
Again he swell'd, look'd big and bounc'd:
But when the bell was made to ring,
For well he knew who pull'd the spring,
Another song he chose to sing.
“My worthy friend as you are here, I in good humour will appear,
And since the meagre slip-slop's made, I think the call should be obey'd.
But one glass more I must engage, My present feelings to assuage,
Though, to speak truth, I'm always dry
When this same bev'rage meets my eye.”
Now led by fragrance and perfume,
They pass'd into the drawing-room,
Which, from its bright display of flowers,
Might pass for one of Flora's bowers.
—Syntax enchanted at the sight, Broke forth in language of delight.
“—When the Creator's works I view
And, wond'ring, the bright course pursue;
And from sublimest objects range To most minute in endless change,
If in those works that meet the eye,
From sky to earth, from earth to sky,
He in the greatest stands confest, Still is he greater in the least.”
Thus as he spoke, with ardent glow,
Of all the various tribes that grow
Or in the garden or the field, Or which the rock or mountain yield,
From the wide spreading cedar tall, To the low hyssop on the wall,
The yawning 'Squire devoid of thought,
With lazy stride the sofa sought,
The cushions cuff'd with all his strength,
And then laid down his listless length.
Madam grew red, and then grew white, And gave her rosy lips a bite,
Which might denote an inclination To gratify a rising passion:
When the Divine to turn aside The rising burst of wounded pride,
Continued, with encreasing force, The fervour of his sage discourse;
But as the lady lent her ear, To what she was so charm'd to hear,
Poor Bumpkin with a snort and snore, Roll'd from the sofa on the floor:
The servants did their master shake, But he was not dispos'd to wake:
“There,” said their mistress, “let him lay, To pass another hour away.
Oh Doctor! ought I not to bless My share of married happiness!
Is not this quite enough to shame me?
Nay, can you for my anger blame me?
Excuse me, but I scarce should weep If this were his eternal sleep.
—Where the taste and tempers vary, O what a folly 'tis to marry!
The greatest fortune will not suit The gentle spirit with the brute:
Nor the fond, tender inclination, With a mere instinctive passion,
Nor the affection of the soul
With the rude mind that claims the whole,
And will not share the kind controul.
—'Tis true I have a coach-and-four, Whene'er I call it, at my door:
Or, as I please to take the air Command the ponies to a chair:
And when I ride, I also see The Beauty Mare reserv'd for me.
I decorate my drawing room With earliest flowers to breathe perfume,
And if I chuse, I have the power Winter to clothe with vernal bower:
And if it should my fancy suit, To taste in Spring the Summer fruit;
While my gay pride, may, to excess, Enjoy the toilette's happiness.
I can make this old mansion gay, With song or dance in any way
That my fond vanity may chuse The neighb'ring circle to amuse.
All this you know, perhaps, but still It does not my fond wish fulfil.
You, Sir, may ask, the question's fair, What 'tis I want I do not share?
What is it I do not receive Which a fond husband's bound to give?
That secret, Doctor, I'll impart: I want what he has not—a heart:
Yes one, where tender feeling rules, And warm affection never cools.
I want a character refin'd Grac'd by a cultivated mind,
Where taste and science are enshrin'd;
With manners that from kindness flow,
Speech that is chaste, and thoughts that glow.
Failings e'en in the best must be, But love would ne'er those errors see,
When it th'enraptur'd power possest To nestle in a noble breast.
—On shaggy mountain's lofty brow, Or in the woody vale below,
Or by the ocean's craggy side, Believe me, I would rather bide,
With such a being by my side,
Than with stupidity to live And all the show which wealth can give;
Though that show tempted me to join, A Booby's lasting lot with mine:
Such is my fate, for you must see To whom false fortune coupled me.”
The slumb'ring 'Squire now op'd his eyes,
Look'd round the room with dull surprise,
Then slowly rose and shook his head,
Call'd for a light and went to bed.

Mrs. Bumpkin.—
“Since, my good Sir, what has appear'd,
Which you have seen as well as heard,
You must acknowledge my complaint
Doth ask the patience of a Saint.”

Syntax.—
“Excuse the liberty I take
When thus I most sincerely speak;
But that same virtue would confer Perfection on your character.
O let me beg you to attend To the kind counsels of a friend!
The die is cast, the deed is done, The cord is fast that makes you one:
Though, if well order'd, I confess I see no bar to happiness.
When I perceive the nat'ral state Of reason in your married mate,
I would consent, in word and deed,
That you, fair Dame, should take the lead;
But then employ your better powers To rule by sweets and not by sours.
Madam, the ancient proverb says, Which words can never duly praise,
That one rich drop of Honey sweet, As an alluring, luscious treat,
Is known to tempt more flies, by far, Than a whole tun of Vinegar.
—Ask with kind words, he'll ne'er deny,
Give winning looks and he'll comply With waken'd sensibility.
If you but smile and never frown He'll shape his wishes to your own:
Nay, symptoms of obedience show, Whether you do obey or no.
Thus blest with temper's cloudless ray
Your morrow will be like to-day.
O let him not perceive you rule, Nor ever treat him like a fool;
Do not, at least to others show, If he be such, you think him so.
O ne'er again delight to tease him, But look as if you wish to please him,
Check notions, that so idle prove, Of Shepherds and Arcadian love:
Your active, well instructed mind, To such vagaries should be blind,
Let not your fancy e'er refine Beyond calm reason's fair design,
But leave to Misses of eighteen The raptures they from Novels glean,
You surely have the means to bless Your life with social happiness;
And O beware you do not spoil Your comforts with domestic broil!”

Mrs. Bumpkin.—
“Doctor, I do admire your plan,
And I'll pursue it—if I can:—
But as so learn'd you seem to be In all domestic policy,
'Tis pity you do not again Assume the matrimonial chain.”

Syntax.—
“Madam, you've touch'd the tender string,
That doth to my remembrance bring
The heavy loss I have sustain'd Of virtues ne'er to be regain'd.
My dearest Dolly was to me What I wish ev'ry wife to be:
And since the darling saint is gone, I feel it sad to be alone;
But still my doubts I cannot smother, Of ever getting such another.”

Mrs. Bumpkin.—
“You have my happiness in view,
And I must feel the same for you.
I have a very pleasing friend
Whom to your thoughts I shall commend;
And, if my judgment does not err, In form and age and character,
Dear Mrs. Hyacinth will prove An object fit for you to love.
She in retirement's peaceful dell Doth in her widow cottage dwell,
Though if her thoughts to me are known,
She wishes to live less alone.
Her mind employs the quiet hours In study, and in nursing flowers,
For, as I hope, you soon will see, She has a taste for Botany;
And her delight as well as glory Is in her gay conservatory.
Nor is this all—for you will find, That with chaste manners is combin'd
A well-form'd and accomplish'd mind.
At all events my friend may call To make his bows at Tulip-Hall;
(For by that name the place is known
Which she is proud to call her own.)
While I its mistress will prepare To give you a kind welcome there:
And much I wish that Heaven may bless
My friends with mutual happiness.
That flowers which sweetest fragrance breathe
May form an Hymeneal wreath,
With fairest hopes your life to crown,
When this fair Dame may be your own.”
—The Doctor promis'd to obey, And in high spirits more than gay,
He joyous kiss'd the lady's hand, And bade her all his soul command.
—Brief was the evening's calm repast:
The time of rest arriv'd at last,
When the sage pass'd its balmy hours
In dreams of Hymen crown'd with flowers.
The morning came when a smart stroke
At chamber-door, the Doctor woke;
And strait, in rather serious mood,
By the bed-side 'Squire Bumpkin stood.
Syntax now rubb'd his eyes, amaz'd, And on the intruding figure gaz'd;
Who lolling on an elbow-chair, Began his errand to declare,
“—To wake you thus may be distressing,
But let me speak while you are dressing.”
Syntax soon shook off his alarms,
Yawn'd wide, and stretching out his arms,
“Speak on,” he said, “my worthy friend,
And I will to your words attend.”

Bumpkin.—
“You must have seen, with half an eye
The kind of animosity,
In greater or in less degree, That reigns between my wife and me:
And as you are a man of science, On whom I have profound reliance,
Tell me the track I should pursue; What to avoid and what to do,
When to controul it would be fit, And when 'twere better to submit:
In short, that this great house may be A scene of greater harmony.
I do not such a polish wear As doth the exterior form prepare,
To rank among the dandy fools, Who are gay fashion's fribbling tools:
But what I do should not provoke Her saucy wit's sarcastic joke,
And, showing off her lively sense, Make others laugh at my expense,
Of which she's sometimes too profuse,
But I think worse than rank abuse;—
For if in that she chose to stir I fancy I could equal her.
But, to my friend, I here declare it,
I've sometimes said I will not bear it.”