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The Works of John Hookham Frere In Verse and Prose

Now First Collected with a Prefatory Memoir by his Nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere

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84

Of whist or cribbage mark th' amusing game—
The partners changing, but the sport the same.
Else would the gamester's anxious ardour cool,
Dull every deal, and stagnant every pool.
Yet must one Man, with one unceasing Wife,
Play the long rubber of connubial life.
Yes! human laws, and laws esteem'd divine,
The generous passion straighten and confine;
And, as a stream, when art constrains its course,
Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force,
So, Passion narrow'd to one channel small,
Unlike the former, does not flow at all.
For Love then only flaps his purple wings,
When uncontroll'd by priestcraft or by kings.
Such the strict rules, that, in these barbarous climes,
Choke youth's fair flow'rs, and feelings turn to crimes:
And people every walk of polish'd life
With that two-headed monster, Man and Wife.
Yet bright examples sometimes we observe,
Which from the general practice seem to swerve;
Such as presented to Germania's view,
A Kotzebue's bold emphatic pencil drew:
Such as, translated in some future age,
Shall add new glories to the British stage;
—While the moved audience sit in dumb despair,
“Like Hottentots, and at each other stare.”

85

With look sedate, and staid beyond her years,
In matron weeds a Housekeeper appears.
The jingling keys her comely girdle deck—
Her 'kerchief colour'd, and her apron check.
Can that be Adelaide, that “soul of whim,”
Reform'd in practice, and in manner prim?
—On household cares intent, with many a sigh
She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie;
Melts into sauces rich the savoury ham:
From the crush'd berry strains the lucid jam;
Bids brandied cherries, by infusion slow,
Imbibe new flavour, and their own forego,
Sole cordial of her heart, sole solace of her woe!
While still, responsive to each mournful moan,
The saucepan simmers in a softer tone.
Canning and Frere.