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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| X. | Dialogue X. Between a generous Husband, and his parsimonious Wife.
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Dialogue X. Between a generous Husband, and his parsimonious Wife.
Husband.What stingy Avarice invades thy Mind?
Why must I be to one coarse Dish confin'd?
Prithee forbear thy parsimonious Ways,
Let me with Comfort spend my latter Days:
My Stomach's weak, I'm not content to eat
Lean powder'd Beef, but must have finer Meat:
I cannot fare like those unletter'd Brutes,
Born to hard Labour and unbutter'd Roots.
Let me enjoy what my Estate affords;
I'll not be starv'd to pile up useless Hoards
For my proud Daughters, and my thankless Son,
To lavish when my fleeting Sands are run.
Let me have well-spread Tables when I dine;
Grutch me no dainty Food, or costly Wine,
Since I have Wealth enough to bear the Charge
Of living more at Ease, and more at large.
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Prithee, my Dear, consider Times are hard,
Trade much reduc'd, and greater Evils fear'd;
Taxes run high, and daily must encrease,
Whilst War excludes the kind Effects of Peace.
This is no happy Juncture to become
Abroad a Spendthrift, or profuse at Home;
No Season to be liberal or great,
When War devours one third of your Estate,
Whilst the Remainder at the Mercy lies
Of giving Pow'rs too generously wise;
Therefore who would not save whate'er he cou'd,
'Less in an Age so hazardous he shou'd
Be beggar'd by that Cheat, the Publick Good?
Husband.
Thy Av'rice fills thy Soul with sad Despair,
And makes thee dream of Dangers God knows where.
Let not such foolish Fears afflict thy Breast;
We're happy, if we know when we are blest.
Let our wise Senate give whate'er they please,
We still shall find enough to live at Ease.
What tho' the crafty Courtiers wealthy grow,
By Ways and Means which they themselves best know;
E'en let them share the Nation's Golden Fleece,
Foxes are us'd to prey upon the Geese;
Yet tho' the Laws compel us to resign
One third of what we hold in Land or Coin,
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But with an easy Mind enjoy the rest;
For the rich Fool that starves before he needs,
Chuses unforc'd that very Curse he dreads:
As fearful Mariners too often run
Into those Dangers they desire to shun,
And wanting Conduct, are, alas! destroy'd
Upon those Shelves which wiser Heads avoid;
Therefore, my Dear, let us not be so dull,
To want Life's Comforts whilst our Bags are full,
But spend in Plenty what we starve to save,
And merit by our Bounty what we have.
Wife.
Since Nature covets but a small Supply,
The mod'rate Liver does the most enjoy;
For more than human Life or Health require,
Is vain Excess, which only Fools admire:
Gluttons and Drunkards, who confound their Store
In half their Days, to live when aged poor.
Man's Happiness on Earth consists, we see,
In healthful Temp'rance and Frugality.
Those who possess these Vertues, always find
The Sweetness of a calm contented Mind;
Improve their Fortunes, and preserve their Ease,
Which Spendthrifts lavish in their Luxuries,
Who swell to Monsters e'er they see their Prime,
By drinking hard, or eating to a Crime;
Wasting their Wealth, by painful Parents rais'd,
Glory'ng the most, when they are most debas'd;
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Advanc'd their Fame, and shew'd their great Deserts.
Would you be one of these fantastick Apes,
To drown your Substance in the Blood of Grapes;
Or waste your solid Treasure, to delight
The vicious Longings of your Appetite?
Would you turn Sot, God's Blessings thus misuse,
And at your Cost your self and Friends abuse?
If such a Life you'd lead, pray where's the Sense
Of growing wicked at your own Expence?
Or would you feast a Croud of Fools each Day,
That they may laugh, while you the Charge defray;
And your Estate impair, that you may pass,
With Sots and Flatt'rers, for a gen'rous Ass,
Who, at your Table, will your Treats commend,
But when you need 'em, cease to be your Friend?
If these you want, make Haste to be undone,
And order twenty Dishes for your one.
Husband.
Your Brains, my Dear, are full of frantick Dreams;
Is there no Medium 'twixt the two Extreams?
Must I all needful Comforts be deny'd,
Or to profuse Extravagance be ty'd?
Cannot I give my self a grateful Meal,
But I must feast the World with Ortland Teal?
Or grace my Table ev'ry Day I dine,
With a digestive Glass of noble Wine,
But I must turn a thoughtless Sot, a Beast,
And ruin my Estate to treat my Guest?
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Between the Miser and Extravagant!
Sure Men of Wealth may find a happy State,
And neither seem too little, or too great.
I ne'er took Pleasure in a vain Excess,
Nor do I love a Miser's Stinginess:
But since by Heav'n I'm blest with an Estate,
I'll not be us'd at this penurious Rate:
Give me the best of Meats to please my Taste;
Let me have Plenty, I desire no Waste:
A well-spread Table I delight to see,
According to my Wealth and Quality,
That Friend or Neighbour, when they come to dine,
May find no Want of wholsome Food or Wine.
Wife.
But you have sev'ral Daughters still to wed,
Ripe for the Pleasures of the nuptial Bed:
Consider, Dear, their Fortunes must be large;
To match 'em well, will prove no little Charge;
They'll sink your Bags, and weaken your Estate.
Why therefore will you think of living great,
Till you've dispos'd your Daughters to your Mind,
And shewn how far you're willing to be kind?
For Parents are in Duty bound to place
Their Children in a State of Happiness,
That we, to whom they owe their Birth, may be
Blest, when we're old, in their Prosperity.
Is it not better we should sparing live,
That to our Offspring we the more may give,
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And, to feast others, leave our Children poor?
Husband.
Duty, I own, commands us to extend
Our Love to those who on our Care depend,
And that a Father is by Nature ty'd,
For his dear Childrens Welfare, to provide;
But still no Parent is oblig'd to make
His Life unhappy, for his Offsprings Sake;
And tho he's rich, live sparingly and poor,
That when he's gone, they may enjoy the more:
A due Provision ought to be his Care;
But he's a Fool that starves, to bless his Heir.
Must wealthy Fathers like Curmudgeons live,
That to their Children they the more may give?
Must I repine beneath a Miser's Fate,
To make my Sons and Daughters rich and great?
No, no, my Dear, from this Time you shall see
Such female Doctrine shall not take with me;
I'll not with Legs and Shins of Beef be fed,
That they may feast on Dainties when I'm dead;
Nor in coarse Kersies wrap my wither'd Hide,
That my fair Daughters may in Coaches ride.
Pray let my Table, ev'ry Day I eat,
Be furnish'd with the best of Butchers Meat,
With Fish and Fowl, when I have Friends to dine,
And a full Cistern of salubrious Wine;
Let my fine Linnen on the Board be spread,
And not for Daughters kept till I am dead;
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But ev'ry Day clean Damask, as I ought,
That Friends or Strangers, when they're here, may see
I live to my Estate and Quality.
Your self may be as saving as you please,
But I'll consult my Credit and my Ease;
No more conform to a penurious Life,
To please a whining parsimonious Wife,
Who, were you ne'er so wealthy, still would be
A stingy Muckworm to your self and me;
Drudge on, pile up, live mean, without a Friend,
And curse each useful Penny that you spend.
So slaving Misers, when too rich they're grown,
Hide what they earn, and still for more toil on;
Conceal their Worth, by wearing homely Rags,
And pine their empty Guts, to fill their Bags.
Wife.
You talk, my Dear, as if you meant to waste,
In your old Age, what you have long possest.
Consider, Love, if you resolve to run
This fatal Race, we shall be all undone:
You're frantick sure. Can you, alas! afford
To treat so high, and revel like a Lord?
You got your Wealth by your industrious Wits,
Improv'd the same in Trade by lucky Hits;
But pray consider those good Days are past;
And would you spend it idly now at last?
Shame on the Follies of your aged Head,
From whence was this devouring Maggot bred?
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And makes you now turn Spendthrift when you're old?
What ill-got Sums lie mingl'd with your Hoard,
Curs'd by some Orphan till again restor'd?
Prithee, my Dear, return the Canker Home,
Let no base Pounds the honest Part consume;
For sure some sinful Bags, by Fraud obtain'd,
Giv'n as a Bribe, or by Oppression gain'd,
Corrupt your Cash, and poyson your Estate;
Or, in your latter Years, your addl'd Pate
Would ne'er contrive to lavish your Estate.
Husband.
Since bounteous Fortune has so kindly blest
My careful Toils for forty Years at least,
That, to my Joy, I now abound, when old,
With fruitful Acres, and with Sums of Gold,
Honour'd long since with Knighthood for my Wealth,
Now free from Bus'ness, happy in my Health;
I tell thee, Wife, or Lady, if you please,
No want of Plenty shall obstruct my Ease;
But in my Age I'll generously live,
Yet spend with Prudence, and with Caution give;
Revive my crusty Nerves with Wine that's good,
And add new Springs to my declining Blood;
Make much of Friends, be hospitably free,
And, whilst I live, bestow my Charity.
This in Contempt of Avarice I'll do,
T'oblige my self, my Dear, in spite of you;
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Or your keen Tongue beyond its Bounds extends,
Then to some distant Tavern will I roam,
And drown in Sack the Plagues I have at Home;
Turn a mere vicious Spendthrift, tho' Im old,
And prove as great a Rake, as you a Scold:
But if I find that you will easy be,
Respectful to my Friends, and kind to me,
Then shall you see, that I will spend to spare,
And tho' I'm gen'rous, it shall be with Care,
That when I've made my Exit, you shall find,
Tho' I liv'd well, I've left enough behind.
Therefore, my Dear, let me, without Debate,
Enjoy the happy Fruits of my Estate;
For who would labour, in his Youth, for Gold,
To pine beneath a Miser's Fate, when old?
Wife.
A Wife's good Counsels are in vain, I know;
For Men, when old, like Trees, more stubborn grow;
As one's too knotty and too stiff to bend,
So t'other proves too resolute to mend;
But since a Woman must be thought too weak
And foolish to controul, advise, or speak,
And Man's too proud to bend, take Care you do not break.
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |