An advice from an old lover to a young wife on her marriage By the author of Will and Jean [i.e. Hector MacNeill]. To which are added, verses written by Major Mordaunt, during the late German war |
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 | An advice from an old lover to a young wife on her marriage |  |
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AN ADVICE FROM AN OLD LOVER TO A YOUNG WIFE ON HER MARRIAGE.
You're now, Eliza, fix'd for life,
In other words, you're now a wife,
And let me whisper in your ear,
A wife, tho' fix'd, has cause to fear;
For much she risks, and much she loses,
If an improper road she chuses.
Yet think not that I mean to fright you;
My plan, au contraire, 's to delight you,
To draw the lines where comfort reaches,
Where folly flies, and prudence teaches;
In short, Eliza, to prevent you
From nameless ills that may torment you;
And ere bright Hymen's torch burns faintly,
From nuptial glare conduct you gently,
Where (cur'd of wounds from Cupid's quiver),
A milder lustre beams—for ever.
In other words, you're now a wife,
And let me whisper in your ear,
A wife, tho' fix'd, has cause to fear;
For much she risks, and much she loses,
If an improper road she chuses.
Yet think not that I mean to fright you;
My plan, au contraire, 's to delight you,
To draw the lines where comfort reaches,
Where folly flies, and prudence teaches;
In short, Eliza, to prevent you
From nameless ills that may torment you;
And ere bright Hymen's torch burns faintly,
From nuptial glare conduct you gently,
Where (cur'd of wounds from Cupid's quiver),
A milder lustre beams—for ever.
First then, Eliza, change your carriage,
Courtship's a different thing from marriage;
And much I fear (by passion blinded),
This change at first is seldom minded.
Maids prais'd and flatter'd all their lives,
Expect as much when they are wives,
And think, when husbands cease palav'ring,
That love (sweet soul!) is surely wav'ring.
Then hey for pets, and cold distrust,
Doubt's sullen brow, and dreams accurst:—
The game goes on, Ma'am's in the dumps,
And jealousy at last is trumps.
For thee, sweet flower! of softest dye,
That caught so late each vagrant eye!
Still opening charms, still blooming gay!
Beauteous in Winter as in May,
For thee, this truth the muse has penn'd,
(The Muse, but more thy anxious friend;)
Woman's bright charms were given to lure us;—
They catch 'tis true, but can't secure us.
Courtship's a different thing from marriage;
And much I fear (by passion blinded),
This change at first is seldom minded.
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Expect as much when they are wives,
And think, when husbands cease palav'ring,
That love (sweet soul!) is surely wav'ring.
Then hey for pets, and cold distrust,
Doubt's sullen brow, and dreams accurst:—
The game goes on, Ma'am's in the dumps,
And jealousy at last is trumps.
For thee, sweet flower! of softest dye,
That caught so late each vagrant eye!
Still opening charms, still blooming gay!
Beauteous in Winter as in May,
For thee, this truth the muse has penn'd,
(The Muse, but more thy anxious friend;)
Woman's bright charms were given to lure us;—
They catch 'tis true, but can't secure us.
Sage Solomon, who paints with beauty
A virtuous woman's worth and duty,
Compares her to a ship of trade,
Who brings from far his daily bread .
This may be true, but as for me,
I'll draw a closer simile,
And call a virtuous wife a gem,
Which for its worth we ne'er contemn,
Tho' soon its water size and hue,
Grow quite familiar to the view.
What then ensues?—Why faith I'll tell you,
We think of nothing but the—value.
Yet take this gem and lay it by
From the possessors careless eye;
Prevent its lustre dazzling bright
From beaming daily on his sight,
I'll take you any bet at pleasure
Whene'er he views this tempting treasure,
With eager bliss and sparkling eyes,
He'll mark each new-born charm arise,
And with the joys of first possession
Admire and rave sans intermission.
A virtuous woman's worth and duty,
Compares her to a ship of trade,
Who brings from far his daily bread .
This may be true, but as for me,
I'll draw a closer simile,
And call a virtuous wife a gem,
Which for its worth we ne'er contemn,
Tho' soon its water size and hue,
Grow quite familiar to the view.
What then ensues?—Why faith I'll tell you,
We think of nothing but the—value.
Yet take this gem and lay it by
From the possessors careless eye;
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From beaming daily on his sight,
I'll take you any bet at pleasure
Whene'er he views this tempting treasure,
With eager bliss and sparkling eyes,
He'll mark each new-born charm arise,
And with the joys of first possession
Admire and rave sans intermission.
If women, therefore, would be wise
Instead of murmurs, tears and sighs,
And sullen moods, and scolding frays,
When lovie's absent for some days,
Let ev'ry female art conspire
To drive him from the parlour fire.
Of all the plagues in married life,
To teaze or to torment a wife,
There's none more likely to increase
The bane of matrimonial peace,
Than the tame husband always by
With prying and suspicious eye.
Mark then when **** goes to town
Smile thou when other wives would frown.
He only goes (nay, don't be angry)
To take a walk to make him hungry;
To taste, a while unknown to care,
And change of object and of air;
Observe the pert, the bold, the witty,
How different from his own sweet Betty!
Return impatient to his home,
No husband, but a fond bridegroom.
Instead of murmurs, tears and sighs,
And sullen moods, and scolding frays,
When lovie's absent for some days,
Let ev'ry female art conspire
To drive him from the parlour fire.
Of all the plagues in married life,
To teaze or to torment a wife,
There's none more likely to increase
The bane of matrimonial peace,
Than the tame husband always by
With prying and suspicious eye.
Mark then when **** goes to town
Smile thou when other wives would frown.
He only goes (nay, don't be angry)
To take a walk to make him hungry;
To taste, a while unknown to care,
And change of object and of air;
Observe the pert, the bold, the witty,
How different from his own sweet Betty!
Return impatient to his home,
No husband, but a fond bridegroom.
Lastly, Eliza, let me say,
That wives should rather yield than sway,
To thwart a husband's fix'd opinion,
Is not the way to gain dominion;
For kisses order, tears reprove ,
And teach us rev'rence, fear and love.—
O! born to soothe and guide the heart,
With native softness void of art!
Thou, whom no pride nor fashion sways,
Unchang'd by flatt'ry's giddy praise:
And thou to whom a trem'lous youth
First spoke the tale of love and truth;
Blinding with passion's fond alarms
The bright'ning beam of Virtue's charms.
Ah! lend not now a careless ear,
Yet, yet, attend to truth sincere.—
These lines at least with smiles receive,
The last, perhaps, thy bard shall give.
That wives should rather yield than sway,
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Is not the way to gain dominion;
For kisses order, tears reprove ,
And teach us rev'rence, fear and love.—
O! born to soothe and guide the heart,
With native softness void of art!
Thou, whom no pride nor fashion sways,
Unchang'd by flatt'ry's giddy praise:
And thou to whom a trem'lous youth
First spoke the tale of love and truth;
Blinding with passion's fond alarms
The bright'ning beam of Virtue's charms.
Ah! lend not now a careless ear,
Yet, yet, attend to truth sincere.—
These lines at least with smiles receive,
The last, perhaps, thy bard shall give.
While pleasure spreads her gaudy train,
To lure the trifling and the vain;
While sloth prolongs the lingering day,
And sighs for concert, cards or play;
Be thine, Eliza, more refin'd,
The pleasure of the virtuous mind,
Be thine the transports of the heart,
Which love and goodness still impart,
The tender glance, the tranquil smile,
A husband's sorrows to beguile;
The blush of joy divinely meek,
That paints a mother's glowing cheek;
The balm that friendship still bestows,
The tear that drops for human woes.
To lure the trifling and the vain;
While sloth prolongs the lingering day,
And sighs for concert, cards or play;
Be thine, Eliza, more refin'd,
The pleasure of the virtuous mind,
Be thine the transports of the heart,
Which love and goodness still impart,
The tender glance, the tranquil smile,
A husband's sorrows to beguile;
The blush of joy divinely meek,
That paints a mother's glowing cheek;
The balm that friendship still bestows,
The tear that drops for human woes.
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These, these, Eliza! light the way,
And cheer when other charms decay;
Conduct thro' care and worldly gloom,
And whisper joys—beyond the tomb!
And cheer when other charms decay;
Conduct thro' care and worldly gloom,
And whisper joys—beyond the tomb!
1775.
VERSES WRITTEN BY MAJOR MORDAUNT,
DURING THE LAST GERMAN WAR.
I
Go, lovely boy ! to yonder tow'r,The fane of Janus, ruthless King!
And shut, O! shut the brazen door,
And here the keys in triumph bring.
II
Full many a tender heart hath bled,Its joys in Belgia's soil entomb'd:
Which thou to Hymen's smiling bed,
And length of sweetest hours had doom'd.
III
Oh glory! you to ruin oweThe fairest plume the hero wears:
Raise the bright helmet from his brow;
You'll mock beneath the manly tears.
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IV
Who does not burn to place the crownOf conquest on his Albion's head?
Who weeps not at her plaintive moan,
To give her hapless orphans bread!
V
Forgive, ye brave, the generous fault,If thus my virtue fails; alone
My Delia stole my earliest-thought,
And fram'd its feelings by her own.
VI
Her mind so pure, her face so fair;Her breast the seat of softest love;
It seem'd her words an angel's were,
Her gentle precepts from above.
VII
My mind thus form'd, to misery gaveThe tender tribute of a tear:
O! Belgia, open thy vast grave,
For I could pour an ocean there.
VIII
When first you show'd me at your feetPale Liberty, Religion tied,
I flew to shut the glorious gate
Of freedom on a tyrant's pride.
IX
Tho' great the cause, so wore with woes,I cannot but lament the deed:
My youth to melancholy bows,
And Clotho trifles with my thread.
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X
But stop, my Clio, wanton muse,Indulge not this unmanly strain:
Beat, beat the drums, my ardour rouse,
And call the soldier back again.
XI
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife,Throughout the sensual world proclaim,
One crouded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
XII
Go then, thou little lovely boy,I cannot, must not, hear thee now;
And all thy soothing arts employ
To cheat my Delia of her wo.
XIII
If the gay flow'r, in all its youth,The scythe of glory here must meet;
Go, bear my laurel, pledge of truth,
And lay it at my Delia's feet.
XIV
Her tears shall keep it ever green,To crown the image in her breast;
Till death doth close the hapless scene,
And calls its angel home to rest.
FINIS
| An advice from an old lover to a young wife on her marriage | |