University of Virginia Library

'Squire Easy soon the Doctor spied,
When he approach'd and smiling cried,
“You as a learned man, I know, Yes, you can tell me where and who;
But surely as my name is Ned, In some old history I have read,
Of a wise people, where the rule,
Whether they were at home or school,
Ne'er did permit their youth to eat 'Till by some grave or active feat
Of mind or body, they had won The privilege to pick their bone.
Who used to place the bread and cheese
On topmost boughs of lofty trees,
Nor ever suffer them to eat it, 'Till down their bows and arrows beat it;
Nor did they get a steak or tart, 'Till it was struck by sling or dart.
Nor will these boys their breakfast see, 'Till by some brisk activity,
Or studied lesson, they're prepar'd To fix their teeth in their reward.
Hunger, by you know whom, 'tis said,
Will break through walls to get its bread,
And here my notion may be right, That this same hunger may incite,
Of learning's loaf to get a bite.
—I, my dear Sir, make no pretence To more than gen'ral common-sense,
Which, as fam'd Pope, the Poet, says, A genius bright of former days,
Is 'mong the kindest gifts of Heaven, And fairly worth the other seven.
When fine folks smile, I never mind it;
I take the world just as I find it,
Yes, yes, with all its odds and ends,
I know no foes, and love my friends;
And among them, it is most true, Doctor, I'm proud to number you.
I'm an odd fish, but, to be free, I'm not the only oddity:
Others there are, or I mistake, Who make folks laugh about the Lake;
Where I remain, all tight and steady:—
But the bell rings, and breakfast's ready;
And sure I am Kate will rejoice,
From her good heart to hear your voice.”
—Indeed her heart is well endued
With feelings that must make it good;
While she is sprightly, gay and free, The flower of warm civility.
“So long,” she said, “the time has been,
Since I beheld your precious chin,
That if I had the heart to scold you,
The house would be too hot to hold you.
But you, my friend, are wont to praise
My Edward's cot and all its ways,
And though some formal folks beshrew it,
You'll find it as you always knew it.”
—Thus lively pleasantry prevail'd, The Doctor's stomach never fail'd;
And though grave thoughts might intervene
At sight of this domestic scene;
Though his remembrance might be cross'd
By thoughts of her whom he had lost;
Yet the mild mirth that persever'd His unresisting spirits cheer'd.
“At present,” Easy said, my Kate
Must on her house and children wait:
But in a busy hour or two She will reserve herself for you,
And try her best to make you stay, Which we request for many a day,
A pleasant scene of grave and gay;
While we will have our friendly talk
Beneath the well-known filbert walk.”
—Within that undisturb'd retreat They sought a solitary seat,
When Easy the discourse began, And thus the conversation ran.
Ned Easy.—
“I have not hinted it before,
But truly I your loss deplore;
For though I'm not by nature taught
To court grave airs or solemn thought,
But rather mirth am prone to deal in,
Yet still, I trust, I have the feeling
In tales of real woe to join, And make the ills of others mine:
Nay, that I'm anxious to relieve
All such as want, and those who grieve:
Though to my friend I freely own Instead of answ'ring moan for moan,
I rather strive to laugh away, The thoughts that on his bosom prey.
—To loss of friends we must submit, 'Tis a wise power that orders it,
And when our joys he takes away, His sov'reign will we must obey:
But who like you these truths can tell,
Who all our duties preach so well?
If weeping would relieve you, why Let tears flow fast from either eye,
But to prevent a friend from dying, Sure laughing is as good as crying.
You've lost your wife—what's to be done!
Why, you may try to live alone:
If that won't do—what doth remain To bring past comforts back again,
But without any fuss or pother, To look about to get another;
And, ere a reas'ning hour is past, To that same plan I'll nail you fast.”

Syntax.—
“But if Sir Stately tells me true,
'Tis the worst thing that I can do,
And now, Friend Easy, what say you?
Full-well you know the Lordly Knight Is fond to think that he is right,
Though from his matrimonial song,
He has been sometimes in the wrong.”

Ned Easy.—
“Wrong do you say? I hate the brute:
He does not with my nature suit.
A brute he must be, who commands Such softness with such iron hands.
Though as I may suppose, you know,
His first wife touch'd him up or so,
A woman of transcendent merit, Who could not bend her lofty spirit
To a vain coxcomb's tyrant whim, Which is so prevalent with him:
For all or nought he made the clatter,
So justice gave the fool the latter:
His boasting counsel throw aside, And take Ned Easy for your guide.
He cannot be compar'd to me,
With his two wives, when I've had three;
Nor shall I the base story smother,
Hen-peck'd by one, he flouts the other:
I do not mean to say he beats her, But like a baby always treats her,
While I, though I have married been So many years, at least sixteen:
Yes, I, with honest heart and hand,
Can now the Dunmow Flitch demand.”

Syntax.—
“Three wives you've had and, as you state,
Have chosen well in ev'ry mate;
Then tell me, friend, how you have done,
That Syntax may chuse such a one:
Whether it be from common sense, Or fruits of sound experience,
Or chance, or happy accident, Your lot is one of such content;
That I may, lest the dames should flout me,
Know how, at least, to look about me.”

Ned Easy.—
“Well then, believe me, I will tell
My honest, nuptial chronicle;
How all my diff'rent courtships thriv'd,
How I made love, and when I wiv'd;
'Tis a request I can't refuse you:— At all events, it will amuse you.
“When I first sheath'd the shining blade,
And thought no more of my cockade,
Having escap'd Bellona's rattle, And all the risques of bloody battle,
With limbs all sound, nor yet a scar
Which sometimes spoils a face in war;
Tho' dangers I ne'er fail'd to dare My eye-brows had not lost a hair,
And as the broad-sword work and lancing,
Had not cut short my grace in dancing,
I 'gan to think what I should prove If Cupid drill'd me into love;
What guard I had against the dart
With which he might attempt my heart;
What store I had of vows and sighs, And all those soft idolatries,
Which wake kind looks in ladies' eyes.
But, while I these attentions paid,
Marg'ret appear'd, a blooming maid,
Who seem'd, I thought, well-pleas'd to hear
All that I whisper'd in her ear.
Egad, I ran at Miss full tilt, But, in a week, she prov'd a Jilt:
I courted with a chaise and pair, Which seem'd at first to please the fair,
But soon the changeling gave me o'er,
For courtship in a coach and four.
“Then Charlotte came, a perfect grace
In outward form, but, on her face
Too oft was seen a scowling look,
Which my calm temper did not brook:
Nay, I had heard her scold her mother,
And seen her cuff her little brother.
She knew how to shew off a charm, In a most fine-turn'd hand and arm,
Which a known sculptor of renown By modelling had made his own,
And us'd to shew it as a piece, That rivall'd the best works of Greece:
But then her fingers she could twist Into a firm and fearful fist,
And much I fear'd, when married, she
Might lay that fine form'd fist on me.