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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| VII. | Dialogue VII. Between an Officer at his Departure, and his affectionate Wife.
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 | Nuptial Dialogues and Debates |  |
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Dialogue VII. Between an Officer at his Departure, and his affectionate Wife.
Wife.How can you leave me full of Fears and Cares,
To struggle with the Toils of distant Wars,
Where Fate, without distinction, meet the Brave,
And lays him level with the worthless Slave?
Let not your active Courage thus disdain
Your peaceful Mansion, for the dusty Plain,
Where thousands are by Destiny decreed,
In spite of human Fortitude, to bleed.
Why, Dearest, will you quit your downy Bed,
In a cold Tent to rest your drowsy Head,
Where killing Damps your Canvas Hut surround,
And do most Mischief when you sleep most sound?
Let me entreat you to resign your Post,
Let younger Brothers fill the Warlike Host;
You have Estate enough to live at Ease,
A vertuous Wife that studies how to please;
Fine Children to adorn your rural Seat,
Nay, all that can a happy Life compleat.
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And change, for foreign Wars, domestick Peace?
Husband.
I own, my Julia, it concerns me near,
That I must part with what I love so dear;
But by Command superior I am bound
To change, for distant Fields, my native Ground.
Princes, like Gods, o'er human Race bear Sway,
And we they rule, are destin'd to obey;
To guard their Honour, we no Fate must fear,
Tho' Dangers ne'er so dreadful do appear;
But when their Safety does our Aid require,
Plow raging Seas, or face destructive Fire,
On frozen Earth refresh our weary Bones,
And wade thro' wreaking Blood, to guard their Thrones.
These are the Paths that do to Honour lead,
Which Subjects, for the Sport of Kings, must tread;
When they command, our Duty bids us fight,
And hazard all, to do our Sov'reign Right:
No Wife or Children must retard our Speed;
We must be free to venture, tho' we bleed;
And he that's forward to defy his Fate,
If his heroick Deeds prove fortunate,
Fame shall with Honour crown his conqu'ring Sword,
And verdant Lawrels be his just Reward.
Who then can dread the Terror or Surprize
Of Death, that hopes for such a glorious Prize?
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Prithee, my Dear, consider what is Fame,
A Poet's Fiction, a romantick Name;
A publick Rumour, that does oft arise
From slender Truths, improv'd by Falsities;
An Art by which poor Flatt'rers win the Great,
A noisy Vapour, useful in the State;
A Glass, by which our famous Gazetteer
Makes little Actions very large appear;
A Last, that humours the fantastick Pride
Of mighty Men, in stretching Deeds more wide;
A lying Huzzy, that deceives the Croud,
By trumpeting fictitious News aloud,
Of wond'rous Feats by Heroes never done;
Of vanquish'd Foes in Battels never won;
Of slaughter'd Numbers, who are yet unslain;
Of Ships destroy'd, still swimming on the Main.
In short, this Fame, which you so much admire,
Is but a noisy Cheat, a common Ly'r,
Courted by Fools, but slighted by the Wise,
Who scorn her Flatt'ries, and her Tales despise;
For whosoe'er pursues the winged Dame,
And makes vain Popularity his Aim,
Shews that his Praises have their Mushroom growth,
Not from his Vertues, but the publick Mouth,
Whose bleating Gullet, and extensive Tongue,
Are seldom stretch'd, but basely in the Wrong.
Why therefore, with such hazard, will you court
A Jilt, who, Fortune like, should be your Sport?
A Poet's Fiction, a romantick Name;
A publick Rumour, that does oft arise
From slender Truths, improv'd by Falsities;
An Art by which poor Flatt'rers win the Great,
A noisy Vapour, useful in the State;
A Glass, by which our famous Gazetteer
Makes little Actions very large appear;
A Last, that humours the fantastick Pride
Of mighty Men, in stretching Deeds more wide;
A lying Huzzy, that deceives the Croud,
By trumpeting fictitious News aloud,
Of wond'rous Feats by Heroes never done;
Of vanquish'd Foes in Battels never won;
Of slaughter'd Numbers, who are yet unslain;
Of Ships destroy'd, still swimming on the Main.
In short, this Fame, which you so much admire,
Is but a noisy Cheat, a common Ly'r,
Courted by Fools, but slighted by the Wise,
Who scorn her Flatt'ries, and her Tales despise;
For whosoe'er pursues the winged Dame,
And makes vain Popularity his Aim,
Shews that his Praises have their Mushroom growth,
Not from his Vertues, but the publick Mouth,
Whose bleating Gullet, and extensive Tongue,
Are seldom stretch'd, but basely in the Wrong.
Why therefore, with such hazard, will you court
A Jilt, who, Fortune like, should be your Sport?
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Besides, what's Honour, but an empty Sound;
A Toy with which a thousand Fools are crown'd;
A Blast of Royal Breath, so oft bestow'd
On worthless Minions, and a spurious Brood,
Begot by stealth in an adult'rous Bed;
Born without Brains, and to no Vertue bred;
A misty Veil, by which the subtle State
Obscure the Want of Goodness in the Great;
A saving Way to recompence the Proud,
Whose slender Merits must be sung aloud,
That ev'ry trifling Service may surprize
The Nation's list'ning Ears, and cheated Eyes,
When all the Feats these mighty Men have done,
If rightly scann'd, are scarce worth speaking on?
If modern Honour be your Aim, my Dear,
These are the Heroes who the Gugaw wear.
Why then should you whose Valour has been try'd,
Seek that which is so oft by Fools enjoy'd?
What are the Lawrel-Wreaths of which you talk?
Where do they grow? Who sees 'em when you walk?
Mere airy Nothings, when with Hazard won,
Imaginary Glories in the Moon:
Like the old Man with Thorny Bush, which we
In lucid Nights, by strength of Fancy, see.
Prithee, my Dear, regard your native Home,
Let giddy Rakes dance after Fife and Drum,
And be deluded by its Warlike Sound,
To change a fertile Soil, for barren Ground:
Let the poor starving Croud, by Nature hard,
Manure the Field, turn Butchers for Reward;
Whilst fav'rite Heroes, honour'd with Command,
Gazing from distant Hills, in Safety stand,
To see their mangl'd Slaves in Numbers fall,
Whilst those in Pow'r, who hazard least, win all.
Stay thou at Home, my only Dear, I beg,
Fame will not cure a crippl'd Arm or Leg,
Nor those you fight for, if by Chance you're laid
Amongst the bleeding Rout in Honour's Bed,
Comfort your mourning Widow, when you're dead.
A Toy with which a thousand Fools are crown'd;
A Blast of Royal Breath, so oft bestow'd
On worthless Minions, and a spurious Brood,
Begot by stealth in an adult'rous Bed;
Born without Brains, and to no Vertue bred;
A misty Veil, by which the subtle State
Obscure the Want of Goodness in the Great;
A saving Way to recompence the Proud,
Whose slender Merits must be sung aloud,
That ev'ry trifling Service may surprize
The Nation's list'ning Ears, and cheated Eyes,
When all the Feats these mighty Men have done,
If rightly scann'd, are scarce worth speaking on?
If modern Honour be your Aim, my Dear,
These are the Heroes who the Gugaw wear.
Why then should you whose Valour has been try'd,
Seek that which is so oft by Fools enjoy'd?
What are the Lawrel-Wreaths of which you talk?
Where do they grow? Who sees 'em when you walk?
Mere airy Nothings, when with Hazard won,
Imaginary Glories in the Moon:
Like the old Man with Thorny Bush, which we
In lucid Nights, by strength of Fancy, see.
Prithee, my Dear, regard your native Home,
Let giddy Rakes dance after Fife and Drum,
And be deluded by its Warlike Sound,
To change a fertile Soil, for barren Ground:
Let the poor starving Croud, by Nature hard,
Manure the Field, turn Butchers for Reward;
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Gazing from distant Hills, in Safety stand,
To see their mangl'd Slaves in Numbers fall,
Whilst those in Pow'r, who hazard least, win all.
Stay thou at Home, my only Dear, I beg,
Fame will not cure a crippl'd Arm or Leg,
Nor those you fight for, if by Chance you're laid
Amongst the bleeding Rout in Honour's Bed,
Comfort your mourning Widow, when you're dead.
Therefore, my Dear, since you in Wealth abound,
Let younger Brothers toil on foreign Ground;
No more your nuptial Happiness forsake,
Let a kind Wife your Resolutions break;
Court not, thro' Danger, popular Esteem,
But live at Ease; for Honour's but a Dream.
Let younger Brothers toil on foreign Ground;
No more your nuptial Happiness forsake,
Let a kind Wife your Resolutions break;
Court not, thro' Danger, popular Esteem,
But live at Ease; for Honour's but a Dream.
Husband.
Your long Harangue with Patience have I heard;
But tho' I love you, cannot quit my Sword,
'Less, to oblige a Wife, I should incur
The Name of Coward, in the Time of War.
Soldiers, by Honour, and by Arms, are bound,
When Danger most appears, to stand their Ground;
Or how should Monarchs, when alarm'd Abroad
By Foes, upon their Thrones in Safety nod?
Were Men to humour Wives, no Land could be,
From slavish Bondage and Invasion, free.
Our haughty Neighbours soon would cross the Main,
And reap with Pleasure, what we sow with Pain;
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To their vile Lusts, our Wives and Daughters too;
Lead us in Fetters to our wish'd for Graves,
And breed our Sons to be their humble Slaves.
These, and a thousand Mis'ries should we feel,
Did we not arm, to conquer and to kill;
And by a bold Defence in Time of Need,
Baffle their Hopes, and their Designs impede.
Who then, that boasts the Spirit of a Man,
Would fear to shorten Life's uncertain Span
In such a Case, when common Safety cries
Aloud thro' ev'ry Town for fresh Supplies?
Have I not eat in Peace my Country's Bread,
And been for little Service largely paid?
Was I not proud in publick to appear
In Cloth of Honour, when no Foe was near?
And would ye tempt me to forsake my Arms,
Now the shrill Warlike Trumpet sounds Alarms;
And, to my Scandal, thro' your weak Advice,
To the whole World proclaim my Cowardice;
Resign my Post, deny my Prince my Aid,
For the soft Pleasures of a nuptial Bed?
No, Julia, tho' I love you as my Life,
I cannot lose my Honour for a Wife:
Tho' Antony was kind, as well as brave,
I scorn, like him, to be a Woman's Slave.
Wife.
Curse on that foppish Name, that empty Sound,
In whose dark Maze Mens Intellects are drown'd;
That Courtly Bauble, thin as airy Thought,
Most boasted on by those who have it not;
That Maggot that infects the giddy Brains
Of Cowards, Fools, rich Knaves, and Curtizans.
In whose dark Maze Mens Intellects are drown'd;
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Most boasted on by those who have it not;
That Maggot that infects the giddy Brains
Of Cowards, Fools, rich Knaves, and Curtizans.
Upon my Honour, says the upstart Beau,
That cloaths his Back by kissing G*d knows who,
Tho', perhaps, born in some poor rural Cell,
And dropt, but t'other day, from Coach's Tail.
That cloaths his Back by kissing G*d knows who,
Tho', perhaps, born in some poor rural Cell,
And dropt, but t'other day, from Coach's Tail.
Touch not my Honour, cries the buxom Fair,
Call'd down from Garret, to the Theatre,
From thence advanc'd, for her enticing Charms,
To some old gouty Courtier's lustful Arms.
Call'd down from Garret, to the Theatre,
From thence advanc'd, for her enticing Charms,
To some old gouty Courtier's lustful Arms.
I'm bound in Honour, cries the Man of State,
Who cheats whole Kingdoms to be rich and great;
Flatters his Prince, whom he for Gold betrays,
And owes his Thousands, which he never pays.
Who cheats whole Kingdoms to be rich and great;
Flatters his Prince, whom he for Gold betrays,
And owes his Thousands, which he never pays.
My Honour calls, crys Bully-huff in Red,
Obscurely born, perhaps to nothing bred,
But lik'd by some Court-Jilt, for Beauty prais'd,
Is, by her Int'rest, to Commission rais'd.
Obscurely born, perhaps to nothing bred,
But lik'd by some Court-Jilt, for Beauty prais'd,
Is, by her Int'rest, to Commission rais'd.
The Gamester too pretends his Honour nice,
Who lives by slipping Cards, and loaded Dice,
Yet upon Honour he can swear h'as lost,
And sink his Money, when h'as won the most.
Who lives by slipping Cards, and loaded Dice,
Yet upon Honour he can swear h'as lost,
And sink his Money, when h'as won the most.
These are the Gentlemen of modern Date,
That do so lavishly of Honour prate,
Who lead most vicious Lives, whore, drink, and game,
Void of all Sense of Vertue, and of Shame;
Therefore, my Dear, b' entreated by a Wife
To prize your Ease, your Children, nay, your Life,
And not make all unhappy, to become
Honour's starv'd Slave Abroad, but stay at Home,
Where Peace and Plenty will be better far,
Than a maim'd Limb, or honourable Scar,
Those painful Fruits that Heroes reap in War.
That do so lavishly of Honour prate,
Who lead most vicious Lives, whore, drink, and game,
Void of all Sense of Vertue, and of Shame;
Therefore, my Dear, b' entreated by a Wife
To prize your Ease, your Children, nay, your Life,
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Honour's starv'd Slave Abroad, but stay at Home,
Where Peace and Plenty will be better far,
Than a maim'd Limb, or honourable Scar,
Those painful Fruits that Heroes reap in War.
Husband.
Forbear, my Love, your Satyr is too keen,
Honour's the standing Rule of worthy Men;
The Touch-stone of their Actions, and their Words,
The Pow'r by which they draw or sheath their Swords.
Honour, if rightly fram'd, like Conscience, shou'd
Comprize Love, Duty, Justice, all that's good,
And ought to be the Pole, or Northern Star,
By which we steer our Course in Peace or War.
'Tis the true Ballance of our Live's Content,
From which no Man should vary or dissent:
In Honour's Scale, with steady Mind, we weigh
That Loyalty which binds us to obey.
'Tis Vertue seated in a gen'rous Breast,
Guarded by Valour, and with Wisdom blest,
Which thus united, gives a splendid Light,
That clears our Doubts, and guides the Soul aright.
Honour's the standing Rule of worthy Men;
The Touch-stone of their Actions, and their Words,
The Pow'r by which they draw or sheath their Swords.
Honour, if rightly fram'd, like Conscience, shou'd
Comprize Love, Duty, Justice, all that's good,
And ought to be the Pole, or Northern Star,
By which we steer our Course in Peace or War.
'Tis the true Ballance of our Live's Content,
From which no Man should vary or dissent:
In Honour's Scale, with steady Mind, we weigh
That Loyalty which binds us to obey.
'Tis Vertue seated in a gen'rous Breast,
Guarded by Valour, and with Wisdom blest,
Which thus united, gives a splendid Light,
That clears our Doubts, and guides the Soul aright.
What tho' unworthy Cowards, Knaves, and Fools,
Strangers to Vertue, and to Honour's Rules,
Reduce the Word to a fantastick Cant,
Because ill Men, or that they Prudence want,
Must the Brave therefore disesteem the Gem,
Because such Dung-hill Cocks despise the same?
No, Julia, Honour shall be still my Rule,
I scorn the Names of Coward, Knave, or Fool:
I love my Children, and adore my Wife,
Value my Riches, and regard my Life;
But since I do my King's Commission hold,
Have wore his Liv'ry, and receiv'd his Gold,
Now he commands me, I shall hazard all
To serve my Prince, tho' I a Victim fall.
What tho' I've Wealth enough, and have no need
To run thro' the Fatigues of War, for Bread,
Yet Men of Figure, when our neighb'ring Foes
Threaten the Kingdom with approaching Woes,
Should, by their great Example, bravely shew
What fearful Slaves at such a Time should do;
For the base Rabble to their Cow'rdice yield,
And hate the Drudg'ry of the Sword and Shield,
Unless they're boldly led, to face their Fate,
By Men of Worth, more generous and great;
Therefore how base and mean should I appear,
To bear Command in Peace, and flinch in War;
To strut two Summers length in Martial Red,
And now change Colour, when my Prince has need?
For Shame, dear Julia, ask me not to stay,
But shew your tender Love some other Way;
All your fond Arguments are urg'd in vain,
I must forsake you for a long Campaign,
And dare the sturdy Foe, tho' I my self am slain.
Strangers to Vertue, and to Honour's Rules,
Reduce the Word to a fantastick Cant,
Because ill Men, or that they Prudence want,
Must the Brave therefore disesteem the Gem,
Because such Dung-hill Cocks despise the same?
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I scorn the Names of Coward, Knave, or Fool:
I love my Children, and adore my Wife,
Value my Riches, and regard my Life;
But since I do my King's Commission hold,
Have wore his Liv'ry, and receiv'd his Gold,
Now he commands me, I shall hazard all
To serve my Prince, tho' I a Victim fall.
What tho' I've Wealth enough, and have no need
To run thro' the Fatigues of War, for Bread,
Yet Men of Figure, when our neighb'ring Foes
Threaten the Kingdom with approaching Woes,
Should, by their great Example, bravely shew
What fearful Slaves at such a Time should do;
For the base Rabble to their Cow'rdice yield,
And hate the Drudg'ry of the Sword and Shield,
Unless they're boldly led, to face their Fate,
By Men of Worth, more generous and great;
Therefore how base and mean should I appear,
To bear Command in Peace, and flinch in War;
To strut two Summers length in Martial Red,
And now change Colour, when my Prince has need?
For Shame, dear Julia, ask me not to stay,
But shew your tender Love some other Way;
All your fond Arguments are urg'd in vain,
I must forsake you for a long Campaign,
And dare the sturdy Foe, tho' I my self am slain.
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O! cruel Man, will you forsake your Wife,
And these dear Babes, to sacrifice your Life?
Have we not all been dutiful and good,
And will you leave us now to wade in Blood?
Since all my feeble Arguments must fail,
Let a Wife's Tears, and Childrens Cries, prevail.
Why do you shake us off? How can you part
With all these Blessings that surround your Heart?
Cling round thy Father's Neck, my lovely Boy,
Kiss him and hug him close, my only Joy;
Hang by his Arm, my dearest Girl, and pray
That he'll be kind, and with your Mother stay.
Look on your pretty Babes, my only Dear;
Behold your Picture there, your Darling here;
Let tender Innocence your Pity move,
And melt your Breast into paternal Love.
Why will you fill us full of Cares and Fears,
And leave your mournful Family in Tears,
To hazard that dear Life, which, if it's lost,
Will all our Comfort in one Moment cost.
One single Person is of small Regard;
Your weak Assistance surely may be spar'd
From those united Legions, sent to try,
By Dint of Arms, the dreadful Lottery;
Therefore, my Dear, once more I humbly crave,
That you this fatal Expedition wave,
And not expose your Life on bloody Plains,
For those who scarce will thank you for your Pains.
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Should I my loyal Resolutions break
For Woman, when my Honour lies at Stake,
I should a Coward, or a Fool, appear,
By shewing too much Love, or too much Fear.
I am too just, my Dear, to quit my Arms,
Tho' I admire my Children, and your Charms;
But common Safety must prevail above
The Bonds of nuptial or paternal Love;
For in a just Regard of that, we shew
Our Duty to our Wives and Children too;
For the brave Soul that will undauted fight,
To do his Prince and native Country Right,
At the same Juncture succours and defends,
By noble Means, his Relatives and Friends;
Therefore, my Dear, no more entreat my stay,
For I'm resolv'd, and must with speed away.
Wife.
Since neither Tears nor Pray'rs will move your Breast
To ease my Grief, by granting my Request,
With aching Heart, and flowing Eyes each day,
I'll in your Absence for your Safety pray;
Implore the Gods to arm you against Fate,
That Vict'ry on your Sword may always wait:
But O! that Honour, which the Brave maintain,
Should rob a Woman of so dear a Man!
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Be patient, Love, content thy self a while,
Swift Time will quickly end our Summer's Toil,
Then in full Gladness we again shall meet,
And our past Absence make our Joys more sweet.
Till then, my Dear, I bid you all adieu,
And with this parting Kiss, my Love renew.
Keep Home, with decent Conduct rule your House,
And pray be thoughtful of your distant Spouse;
Encourage no loose forward Visiters,
The treach'rous World is full of Wiles and Snares;
But remain chearful, easy in your Mind,
Of your self careful, to your Children kind.
Farewell, my Darlings, free of all Offence,
May Heav'n protect your charming Innocence
Till I return, enrich'd with foreign Spoils,
That you may be the happier for my Toils.
Adieu, once more, ye Comforts of my Life,
My lovely Babes, and you my dearest Wife;
Dry up your Sorrows, sigh no more in vain,
For Time will make us happy once again.
Wife.
And are you gone? O! Heaven, my Fears abate,
May Guardian Angels round his Person wait.
O! grant, that he may conquer in the Field,
And foreign Victims to his Mercy yield,
That he may win upon the dusty Plain
The lasting Glory which he hopes to gain,
And return Home, to ease my doubtful Cares,
Free from those Marks of Honour, Maims and Scars.
'Tis hard that Men of Worth should be the Sport
Of Fortune, to oblige a flatt'ring Court,
And quit the Blessings of their native Land,
To try their Valour with each common Hand;
Or, by Command, be hurry'd from their Wives,
To lose their own, in guarding others Lives.
O! curs'd Ambition of the Proud and Great,
That Pow'r must be sustain'd by others Fate;
That Cow'rds must be protected by the Brave,
And one Man's Pride be made another's Grave.
But so, alas! it is. Knaves find the Way
To make the Wise, as well as Fools obey;
And gallant Man, who boasts a gen'rous Soul,
Must do the fatal Drudg'ry of the whole.
'Tis hard the valiant Mind should plough the Seas,
And the gay Coxcomb sit at Home in Ease;
Or that the Vertuous should be doom'd to fight,
Whilst the rich Blockhead revels in Delight:
But who can alter the Decrees of Fate,
The Brave must be the Slaves that guard the Great.
May Guardian Angels round his Person wait.
O! grant, that he may conquer in the Field,
And foreign Victims to his Mercy yield,
That he may win upon the dusty Plain
The lasting Glory which he hopes to gain,
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Free from those Marks of Honour, Maims and Scars.
'Tis hard that Men of Worth should be the Sport
Of Fortune, to oblige a flatt'ring Court,
And quit the Blessings of their native Land,
To try their Valour with each common Hand;
Or, by Command, be hurry'd from their Wives,
To lose their own, in guarding others Lives.
O! curs'd Ambition of the Proud and Great,
That Pow'r must be sustain'd by others Fate;
That Cow'rds must be protected by the Brave,
And one Man's Pride be made another's Grave.
But so, alas! it is. Knaves find the Way
To make the Wise, as well as Fools obey;
And gallant Man, who boasts a gen'rous Soul,
Must do the fatal Drudg'ry of the whole.
'Tis hard the valiant Mind should plough the Seas,
And the gay Coxcomb sit at Home in Ease;
Or that the Vertuous should be doom'd to fight,
Whilst the rich Blockhead revels in Delight:
But who can alter the Decrees of Fate,
The Brave must be the Slaves that guard the Great.
Come, my dear Babies, you and I must mourn
Your Father's Absence, till his safe Return;
Then shall we all be happy to our Mind,
You in a tender Parent fondly kind,
I in the joyful Smiles and soft Embrace
Of a dear Spouse, the best of human Race.
Your Father's Absence, till his safe Return;
Then shall we all be happy to our Mind,
You in a tender Parent fondly kind,
I in the joyful Smiles and soft Embrace
Of a dear Spouse, the best of human Race.
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |