The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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MODERN LOVE
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
344
MODERN LOVE
Occasioned by an Unequal Marriage
Modern love like to traffic turns all upon gain
& beautys shov'd out of the fashion
False curls paint & patches all labour in vain
For ex[c]iting an amourous passion
& beautys shov'd out of the fashion
False curls paint & patches all labour in vain
For ex[c]iting an amourous passion
Since wrinkld old shadows—wrong side o' four score
Where mouldy old coin is in plenty
Are prefer'd by our modern love jobbers before
The plump rosey beautys o' Twenty
Where mouldy old coin is in plenty
Are prefer'd by our modern love jobbers before
The plump rosey beautys o' Twenty
So now fusty maidens your sorrows lay by
Sin' your blest wi' a friend in your riches
Your hearts need no longer to dwindle & sigh
Nor ache at the sight o' the breeches
Sin' your blest wi' a friend in your riches
Your hearts need no longer to dwindle & sigh
Nor ache at the sight o' the breeches
345
Do but turn out your gold modern rakes to entice
Such a magical power there lies in it
Like a trap that is baited wi' bacon for mice
The gilded snares seiz'd in a minute
Such a magical power there lies in it
Like a trap that is baited wi' bacon for mice
The gilded snares seiz'd in a minute
So sport it about while by fortune your blest
Make use of the chance while you have it
For fortunes a fickle friend known at the best
& you cant tell how long she has gave it
Make use of the chance while you have it
For fortunes a fickle friend known at the best
& you cant tell how long she has gave it
Friend R--- wi' a fourscore year fillies gone tether
Faith who could a thought that he meant it
But gold put the spring & the winter to gether
& when the charms lost he'll repent it
Faith who could a thought that he meant it
But gold put the spring & the winter to gether
& when the charms lost he'll repent it
Tis money alone modern fancies can tickle
& the language of love is mere jargon
The gold makes the marriage—the wifes an article
Thats forcibly thrown in the bargain
& the language of love is mere jargon
The gold makes the marriage—the wifes an article
Thats forcibly thrown in the bargain
Poor Cupids traid failing must stoop to low arts
Or he comes to a bankruptcy by em
In heaps of old coin he must look for his darts
Myras eyes will no longer supply him
Or he comes to a bankruptcy by em
In heaps of old coin he must look for his darts
Myras eyes will no longer supply him
| The early poems of John Clare | |