Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

How much in vain is all our Art
To pry into a Female Heart?
How weak, how groundless the pretence
To knowledge, conduct, wit, or sense,
When Women, as they please, deceive,
And We, with all our Wit, believe?

Still in the Matrimonial State
(That end of Love, that source of Hate)
'Tis each conceited Sot's advice,
A Man can never be too nice.
Mark how your Mistress is inclin'd;
Observe the sallies of her Mind:
Loves she the Park, and Flanders Mares,
Or Ev'ning Walks, or Morning Prayers?
Delights she in the rich Brocade,
Or trips she to a Masquerade?

If once to these her Fancy lead,
She's one of us: Beware your Head.

Per contra, if on search you find
She has not yet debauch'd her Mind;
If yet she ne'er has cross'd the Thames,
Or trod the purlieu's of St James;
Ne'er set her utmost foot so far
As t'other side of Temple-Bar;
Why then you may with Reason judge
She'll make a tollerable Drudge;
Was never yet by Man betray'd,
I'll warrant her a spotless Maid.

Give o'er thy Cant, deluded Fool,
Nor fix Uncertainties to Rule;
That Sex, the Essence of Deceit,
Was, is, and will be still a Cheat.

If my Opinion won't prevail,
Have patience, and attend my Tale.

A Spark there was, we' l call him John,
Or any thing you'll pitch upon,
Who in his Youth (Heav'n help his head)
Most prudently resolv'd to wed;

And (for he valued much his Fame)
A Girl unblemish'd was his aim;
How many ways soe'er he try'd,
He'd have a Virgin for his bride.
Long did the search perplex his mind,
For Virgins are but hard to find;
At length kind Fortune was his friend,
And all his pain was at an end.
A fair delightful She he found,
Whose Beauty would a Hermit wound,
Yet who, if Modesty can move,
Might teach a Libertine to love.
No sickly Pale deform'd her face,
Unhurt and fresh was ev'ry Grace:
Free from the Vices of the Town,
Ill Cards had never made her frown:
She ne'er had run in debt with Beaux,
Or broke for Ombre her Repose.
If but a Man the creature 'spy'd
'Twould blush and turn it's head aside.
Her Cheeks were red, her Mouth was pretty,
Her Eyes were black, her Name was Betty.

O'erjoy'd to meet so chaste a Dame,
John yet a while conceal'd his flame,
And, firmly bent to clear all doubt,
Enquir'd her Character about;

Would slyly ask with careless grin
How many Suitors she had seen;
Said, “He had often heard them talk
“That Betty lov'd a Moonlight Walk:
“That She and Tom, as people say,
“Did more together than make Hay:
“If so, 'twas Pity; for his part,
“He wish'd her well with all his heart.

With Joy, which none but Lovers taste,
John heard his story turn'd to Jest:
“'Twas certain that could never be;
“Who had a better Name than She?
One thing remain'd, and only One,
E're all his scruples would be done;
He thought her chaste, but then he cry'd,
“She must be so who ne'er was try'd;
“I'll make my self the bold attack,
“And fairly lay her on her Back;
“If she resists, my Soul she gains;
“If not, I've something for my Pains.

Big with this scheme, one Ev'ning fair
He ask'd her out to take the Air;
The setting Sun adorn'd the Grove,
And ev'ry Zephyr whisper'd Love;

Afraid, and doubtful of the bliss,
John made his Onset with a Kiss;
And with a Second bolder grown,
Began his rash design to own;
Attempted to be very free,
Told her, ‘That none could hear or see;
“That if she'd grant him then the Favour,
“He'd the next Morning surely have her.”

With artful Blush, and down-cast Eye,
Chaste Betty made him no Reply,
But with her Fist upon his Face
Reveng'd in silence her Disgrace.
Thrice happy Youth, in One to find
The Body beauteous, chaste the Mind!
'Tis plain from Thee, the Fate we fear
Is easy to avoid with care.

But to my Tale.—With eager haste
John to the Fair one's Parents past:
In wealth her equal, and descent,
With ease he got her Friends consent:
On harder terms he got her own;
Betty continued still to frown;
But Women are so prone to Good,
Our Pray'rs are seldom long withstood.

In short, the Nuptial Noose was ty'd,
And John in Raptures with his Bride.
The Man in black their Sentence read,
They din'd, they supp'd, then went to Bed,
What more they did may not be said.

Oh, wretched State of Things below!
Our greatest Pleasures end in Woe.
Take Heed betimes, unwary Youth,
For Grief is incident to Truth:
Our mighty Pleasures, 'tis believ'd,
Consist in being well deceiv'd.

John in the morning told his Bride
How cunningly she had been try'd:
“'Twas only Stratagem I meant,
“For had you giv'n your Consent,
“I ne'er had married you, Pardie;
“The Devil might ha' done't for me.
Quoth she, “My Dear, that may be true,
“But I was full as wise as you:
“For You have fail'd in your design,
“And I have had Success in mine:
“I knew no man would wed his Whore;
“Why, Roger nick'd me so before.