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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| VI. | DIALOGUE VI. Between a Salacious Monarch, and his Barren Consort.
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DIALOGUE VI. Between a Salacious Monarch, and his Barren Consort.
Consort.Why, my good Liege, will you debase your Throne,
And with ignoble Stains defile your Crown?
Why tarnish all the Glories of your Reign,
And let your Headstrong Lust your Laws prophane?
Why in such Pomp and Equipage support
Such Crowds of Harlots to disgrace your Court,
And, in their Grandeur, let your Kingdom see,
How much you value them, how little me?
Monarch.
Who'd be a Monarch that must reign in fear
His Fav'rites should in publick Pomp appear?
Let the Saints grin, and Faction roar aloud,
Kings are above the Scandal of the Croud,
What if we're am'rous, and to Love inclin'd,
Monarchs should suit their Pleasures to their Mind;
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And sanctify their Vices by their Pow'r:
Grandeur gives every thing a charming Face,
We ought to favour those that we embrace;
For Wealth and Title do the Kind protect
From publick Scandal, and command Respect.
When those are wanting, then the gen'rous Dame,
When e'er she's known to sin, must blush for shame,
Whilst her Grace passes in her stately Coach,
From one stale Pleasure to a new Debauch,
And brazens Envy, fearless of Reproach.
Consort.
But you too many Prostitutes approve,
And are too lib'ral of your Royal Love,
Lavish your Treasure to indulge your Sins,
And starve your Friends t'enrich your Concubines,
Such that are drawn from Playhouses and Stews,
Of Mold too base for such a Prince's use,
Meer Wantons, who can boast but slender Charms,
And those defil'd, long since, by others Arms:
Nor are they constant now to your Embrace,
At least suspected to be false and base:
Why therefore should you thus at large impart
Your Royal Favours, where there's no Desert?
Monarch.
We value not so much the Face or Mein,
But love those Merits that are most unseen,
Which ne'er are boasted by the Female Race,
But when they're search'd for in the proper place;
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Their Love, and then each condescending part
Takes Pains to prove they're Women of Desert.
Such, Madam, are the Ladies we admire,
Who find new joyful Arts to quench Desire,
And have a thousand Charms to Queens unknown,
Worthy of his Embrace that rules a Throne:
What tho' the Mold be coarse, the Surface mean,
Poor Earth sometimes contains rich Mines within,
Treasures unknown, that may reward the Toil
Of only him that digs the charming Soil;
Besides, tho' Woman cannot boast her Birth,
Or vainly glory in her Parents worth,
Yet Kings, by Honour, can refine her Blood,
And make her Noble, tho' she's ne'er so sewd:
'Tis all a Jest, the diff'rence is so small
'Twixt City Dames and Ladies at White-hall,
That thro' our whole Experience, we protest,
We ne'er could tell whose Honour is the best.
Consort
You're now, my Liege, too jocular and free,
Such droll'ry derogates from Majesty,
My Birth and Station will not let me hear
Such Talk, I humbly beg you to forbear;
I only crave the freedom to report
What Whispers I have heard around your Court,
That your whole Kingdom is inflam'd to see
Their Prince indulg'd in Vice and Luxury;
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Design'd to serve the Ends of Government,
T'enrich your craving Harlots, and advance
The Pride of a young Wanton sent from France,
Whilst your poor Friends of your Neglects complain;
And hover daily round your Throne in vain.
Monarch.
These are the bell'wings of the factious Croud,
Who love to roar against their King aloud,
And, had they Pow'r, would gladly pull us down,
Because they've spy'd a Cross upon our Crown.
Or should we wave that frightful Popish Toy,
And to take off the Christian Badge comply,
They'd do the same for any other Reason why.
Who love to roar against their King aloud,
And, had they Pow'r, would gladly pull us down,
Because they've spy'd a Cross upon our Crown.
Or should we wave that frightful Popish Toy,
And to take off the Christian Badge comply,
They'd do the same for any other Reason why.
None but the Saints should have the regale place,
Because Dominion is founded in Grace.
They only think that Kings usurp their Right,
And therefore grin and murmur out of spight.
Our Ears are deaf when Calvin's Tribe complains,
Their Dog-star Zeal oft over-heats their Brains.
Or do we fear their Leaders, who support
Their Cause, and Buz their Malice thro' our Court.
We watch their Motions, and have depth of Line,
To fathom every bold and base Design:
We know how far they have their Projects drove,
And ev'ry secret Spring by which they move.
Nor shall our Leisure-Pleasures or Amours,
Made by our Foes their Coffee-House Discourse,
Postpone our Care of Bus'ness, or prevent
Our due regard to Regal Government:
But they shall timely find they plot in vain,
And that we still will Love as well as Reign,
Consult our Joys, our Pleasures, and our Ease,
Yet still be King and Honour whom we please.
Because Dominion is founded in Grace.
They only think that Kings usurp their Right,
And therefore grin and murmur out of spight.
Our Ears are deaf when Calvin's Tribe complains,
Their Dog-star Zeal oft over-heats their Brains.
Or do we fear their Leaders, who support
Their Cause, and Buz their Malice thro' our Court.
We watch their Motions, and have depth of Line,
To fathom every bold and base Design:
We know how far they have their Projects drove,
And ev'ry secret Spring by which they move.
Nor shall our Leisure-Pleasures or Amours,
Made by our Foes their Coffee-House Discourse,
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Our due regard to Regal Government:
But they shall timely find they plot in vain,
And that we still will Love as well as Reign,
Consult our Joys, our Pleasures, and our Ease,
Yet still be King and Honour whom we please.
Consort.
But Kings, my Liege, should good Examples give,
And strictly up to Vertues Maxims live,
Subdue their loose Desires, their Lusts command,
Plant Piety, and, with a sacred Hand,
Scatter the Seeds of Goodness thro' the Land;
For 'tis from Thrones and Courts that Vices flow,
Those that sit high corrupt the Croud below:
The Frape will practice what the Great begin,
And thus whole Nations are involv'd in Sin;
Therefore it is, my Liege, that now I claim
The modest Freedom of a Royal Dame,
And beg you, as becomes your regal place,
To throw those Wantons from your kind Embrace,
Who drein your Treasure, scandalize your Throne,
And make you the Lampoon of all the Town,
Betray your Princely Conduct, and expose
Your humane Frailties to your crafty Foes,
Who with ill-natur'd Tongues your Vices tell,
And ev'ry Mole-hill to a Mountain swell,
Rail at th'indecent Liberties you take,
And on your Failings base Reflections make,
Excite your weaker Subjects to prophane
The Name of King, and to reproach your Reign,
Forgetting all the peaceful Joys they find
Beneath a Prince so merciful and kind.
And strictly up to Vertues Maxims live,
Subdue their loose Desires, their Lusts command,
Plant Piety, and, with a sacred Hand,
Scatter the Seeds of Goodness thro' the Land;
For 'tis from Thrones and Courts that Vices flow,
Those that sit high corrupt the Croud below:
The Frape will practice what the Great begin,
And thus whole Nations are involv'd in Sin;
Therefore it is, my Liege, that now I claim
The modest Freedom of a Royal Dame,
And beg you, as becomes your regal place,
To throw those Wantons from your kind Embrace,
Who drein your Treasure, scandalize your Throne,
And make you the Lampoon of all the Town,
Betray your Princely Conduct, and expose
Your humane Frailties to your crafty Foes,
Who with ill-natur'd Tongues your Vices tell,
And ev'ry Mole-hill to a Mountain swell,
Rail at th'indecent Liberties you take,
And on your Failings base Reflections make,
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The Name of King, and to reproach your Reign,
Forgetting all the peaceful Joys they find
Beneath a Prince so merciful and kind.
Pray, Royal Sir, give Ear to my Discourse,
And weigh the Scandal of your loose Amours;
Consider what Reproach your Wantons bring
Upon the Pow'r and Wisdom of a King,
How their vain Pomp and ostentatious Pride,
Anger your Subjects and the Land divide;
How your own Freedoms teach the nobler Sort,
To make a perfect Brothel of your Court;
From whence their Vices like a Mist expand,
And spread their Poyson thro' the sinful Land;
Whilst those who wisely can delight their Souls
With Vertues Precepts and Religious Rules,
Upon the growing Evil cry out Shame,
And on their King's Example charge the Blame.
And weigh the Scandal of your loose Amours;
Consider what Reproach your Wantons bring
Upon the Pow'r and Wisdom of a King,
How their vain Pomp and ostentatious Pride,
Anger your Subjects and the Land divide;
How your own Freedoms teach the nobler Sort,
To make a perfect Brothel of your Court;
From whence their Vices like a Mist expand,
And spread their Poyson thro' the sinful Land;
Whilst those who wisely can delight their Souls
With Vertues Precepts and Religious Rules,
Upon the growing Evil cry out Shame,
And on their King's Example charge the Blame.
Monarch.
Monarchs are Gods on Earth, ally'd to Heaven,
And ought not to have Rules by Subjects given,
Are born to govern, have a Right to chuse
Those Pleasures they are most inclin'd to use;
Such that are sinful in the servile Croud,
And only to their sov'reign Lords allow'd,
Who cannot Err, but when they circumvent
The genuine Ends of lawful Government:
'Tis Insolence in Subjects to controul
The Freedoms of a Prince that Rules the whole,
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Upon those secret Joys their Kings affect.
Nor have they Cause to murmur or complain,
If happy in their Monarch's peaceful Reign,
Whilst with due Conduct he maintains his Trust,
In him they're blest, and ought to think him Just.
His private Failings, that alone relate
To his own Pleasures, not the Publick State,
Are Mysteries too daring and too dark,
For Subjects, Slaves, or Servants to remark,
They should lie hid from such inferior Eyes,
Nor should they be expos'd to Factious Spies,
But left to Heaven's Justice, who alone
Has Right to censure those that Rule a Throne.
Consort.
But you, my Liege, so publickly expose
Your carnal Pleasures to your factious Foes,
That, without prying, they may see too plain
Those obvious Errors that disgrace your Reign;
The Prostitutes you favour are enough,
Their costly Grandeur are sufficient Proof,
That you indulge those Lusts you should subdue,
And teach your am'rous Court to do so too;
Therefore since you to Love are so inclin'd,
And in your Harlots Arms such Pleasures find,
That rather than discard them and reclaim,
You'll chuse to suffer in your Royal Fame,
Methinks, it would become your Princely Care,
To keep your Joys more private than they are,
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A Crew of Wantons to degrade your Court.
Princes, like Cloister'd Priests, should hide their Sins,
And, in the Dark, embrace their Concubines:
Not let their Friends or Fav'rites know what Nights
They set apart for their obscene Delights,
And by those Badges which their Harlots wear,
Let the World see whose Prostitutes they are.
When Kings debauch, they should the Curtain draw,
And ne'er be seen to sin against the Law,
Lest their indecent Freedoms should entice
His flatt'ring Court to imitate his Vice,
Who always practise what their Prince pursues,
Or rail at Freedoms that they scorn to use.
Monarch.
But 'tis beneath a Gen'rous Prince to prove
A Hypocrite to skreen his wanton Love;
Tis a King's Glory that he dares be free,
And none reprove him for his Liberty,
And that he fears not to reward the Charms
Of Beauty, that delight his Royal Arms,
Or honour those engag'd in his Amours,
That all may rev'rence whom the King adores.
Princes, in publick manner, ought to shew
Their kind Returns to secret Service due,
For Royal Gratitude and Bounty shines
Most bright i'th' Pomp of Friends and Concubines.
A Hypocrite to skreen his wanton Love;
Tis a King's Glory that he dares be free,
And none reprove him for his Liberty,
And that he fears not to reward the Charms
Of Beauty, that delight his Royal Arms,
Or honour those engag'd in his Amours,
That all may rev'rence whom the King adores.
Princes, in publick manner, ought to shew
Their kind Returns to secret Service due,
For Royal Gratitude and Bounty shines
Most bright i'th' Pomp of Friends and Concubines.
Had you, fair Madam, to our Comfort been
A Royal Mother, as a Pious Queen,
Then should we justly have incurr'd your Blame,
And the whole Land might our Amours condemn;
But who, in vain, will till infertile Ground,
Or thrum upon a Lute that yields no sound;
Should Laws on Kings such hard Injunctions lay,
Beggars and Slaves would happier be than they.
All Men, by Nature, are inclin'd to see
Their Image in a spritely Progeny:
Why then should he that Governs be deny'd
A fruitful Mistress, if his Royal Bride,
Thro' some Defect, obstructs the noble End
To which the Joys of Nuptial Love should tend.
What Rural Slave would be content to sow
Those hungry Acres where no Corn will grow?
Why then should Royal Greatness be confin'd
To barren Joys, ingrateful to the Mind,
That's never truly pleas'd, but when it sees
The End propos'd with ev'ry Act agrees?
What Subject then can blame a Prince that flies
A fruitless Bride for more effectual Joys,
When if himself would make the Case his own,
He'd do the same, and justify the Throne?
A Royal Mother, as a Pious Queen,
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And the whole Land might our Amours condemn;
But who, in vain, will till infertile Ground,
Or thrum upon a Lute that yields no sound;
Should Laws on Kings such hard Injunctions lay,
Beggars and Slaves would happier be than they.
All Men, by Nature, are inclin'd to see
Their Image in a spritely Progeny:
Why then should he that Governs be deny'd
A fruitful Mistress, if his Royal Bride,
Thro' some Defect, obstructs the noble End
To which the Joys of Nuptial Love should tend.
What Rural Slave would be content to sow
Those hungry Acres where no Corn will grow?
Why then should Royal Greatness be confin'd
To barren Joys, ingrateful to the Mind,
That's never truly pleas'd, but when it sees
The End propos'd with ev'ry Act agrees?
What Subject then can blame a Prince that flies
A fruitless Bride for more effectual Joys,
When if himself would make the Case his own,
He'd do the same, and justify the Throne?
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |