University of Virginia Library

There liv'd in France, as ancient Stories tell,
A wealthy Merchant skill'd in trading well;
Wise he was deem'd by all whose Maxims hold
That he's no Ideot who abounds in Gold.
This thriving Merchant had an airy Bride,
Who dearly lov'd th'expensive Arts of Pride,
She'd frisk abroad to Company and Play,
Would dance all Night, and frolick all the Day.
But sharp's the End of ev'ry vain Desire,
And rampant Wives will frugal Husbands tire,
Their Pleasures fly like Shadows on a Wall,
And woe to him whose Purse must pay for all.
Yet tho' the Husband of a well drest Wife
Finds her a costly Article of Life,
'Tis for his Credit, we must still confess,
His Wife should wear a fashionable Dress,
Should make her Visits in a modish Gown,
And dance like other Ladies of the Town:
For if the stingy Niggard grudge the Cost,
And thinks it all extravagantly lost,
A Friend may chance her private Debts to pay,
And that for certain is a dang'rous Way.

This Merchant's House was stor'd with dainty Fare,
And ev'ry Table smil'd with Plenty there,
From Day to Day his Guests unnumber'd came,
Rich was the Treat, and beauteous was my Dame.
That Men with buxom Wives should thus regale
Is wondrous odd—but I'll pursue my Tale.

Among his Friends a Monk would oft appear,
Fresh in the Vigour of his thirtieth Year;
The Man was form'd with ev'ry comely Grace,
And had a brisk Assurance in his Face,
His first Acquaintance was in early Days,
And lasted downward from their youthful Plays,
'Twas hence he took the Boldness to attend,
And practis'd all the Freedoms of a Friend;
And since from out one native Town they came,
He claim'd a Kindred with the Merchant's Name;
Who proudly own'd it with a hearty Smile,
And sent him Greeting in the kindred Stile;
Thus both were eas'd of ev'ry formal Strife,
And leagu'd in Union to be Friends for Life,

Free was Sir John, and by his bounteous Care
Soon gain'd the Love of ev'ry Servant there,
The humblest Page in all the menial Band
Shar'd the kind Favours of his gen'rous Hand;
The House was all in Raptures when he came,
Bows from my Cousin, Courtsies from my Dame,
And ev'ry one with glad Surprize would run,
Pleas'd as a Bird to view the rising Sun.

It chanc'd the Merchant once a Journey made,
When Bruges held an annual Mart of Trade,
But first he sent Sir John a friendly Call,
To take a Day's Diversion at his Hall;
And with himself, his Kindred, and his Wife,
To spend in Mirth a jovial Hour of Life;
Sir John receiv'd it with a secret Pride,
And soon obtain'd the Abbot's Leave to ride,
For 'twas his Office thro' the Grounds to range,
To view the Barns, the Pastures, and the Grange,
He was the most commodious Steward there,
And all was manag'd by his prudent Care.

Forth rode Sir John with Presents half a Dozen,
And who so welcome as my Lady's Cousin?
He brought a Tub of Vernage for the Dame,
And two long Days they had a jovial Game;
Their Tide of Pleasures flow'd the usual Way,
And all Day long 'twas Gluttony and Play.

But worldly Cares the dearest Friends will part,
And Business call'd our Tradesman to the Mart,
He rose betimes his Ledger Rolls to look,
And see how Matters stood in ev'ry Book;
With painful Thought he summ'd up each Arrear,
And ballanc'd all th'Expences of the Year,
What Debts were owing, and whose Bills were crost,
How vast his Gain above the premier Cost;
There all alone the long Account he made,
And canvass'd o'er the mystic Craft of Trade.

Sir John too started from his soft Repose,
And waking early with the Morning rose,
And as he walk'd among the Garden Trees
To take the Freshness of the genial Breeze,
Right up the Walk advanc'd his Cousin's Bride,
Her infant Daughter waddling by her Side,
Nor was she of the prating Girl afraid,
For she was yet a little harmless Maid.

Good morrow, Cousin, said the courteous Dame,
But why so early? You are sure to blame.
My Niece, said he, five Hours in ev'ry Night
Is Sleep enough for any single Wight,
For Men, whose Passions never aim to wed
With Ease are prompted to forsake their Bed,
'Tis your old married Drones who slumber there,
And snore as soundly as a hunted Hare.
But what's the Matter that you look so pale?
Come, speak the Cause, and let me hear your Tale.
For by this early Vigil that you keep,
I guess some Frolick has disturb'd your Sleep;
Then in his Face his Passions briskly wrought,
And shew'd his Mind was tickled with the Thought.

Ah! Dear Sir John, my loving Coz. said she,
And shook her Head, 'tis not so gay with me,
For I declare by him who gave me Life,
There's not in France a more abstemious Wife,
I've Cause enough to rue my native Morn,
And curse the Hour that ever I was born,
But with these Topics I must not be free,
Nor dare I tell how Matters stand with me,
Beneath my Troubles I shall surely bend,
And bring myself to some untimely End,
I every Day some new Affliction share,
And my poor Heart is fit to burst with Care.

Sir John beheld her with a deep Surprize,
And thus return'd—Let me for once advise,
Oh! Heav'n forbid that such a lovely Wife
For worldly Crosses should destroy her Life.
Come then, my Niece, unbosom all your Grief,
'Tis ten to one but I may bring Relief;
And if my Aid your precious Life can save,
I swear devoutly I'm your trusty Slave,
And you may safely on my Oath depend
I'll ne'er betray the Secrets of my Friend.

The same to you, said she, I truly swear,
Tho' Men should all my Limbs in pieces tear,
Tho' I were certain to be rackt in Hell,
I'll ne'er disclose one Tittle that you tell.
Nor Friends nor Kindred shall with all their Art,
E'er wrest the darling Secret from my Heart.
When both the Parties thus had sworn the same,
They kist like Friends, and then began my Dame.

Were I where no officious Knave might hear,
And safe at Distance from a treach'rous Ear,
I'd tell a doleful Legend of my Life,
Fill'd with the Hardships of a suff'ring Wife,
For tho' my Husband from your Kindred shoot,
His rotten Branch defames your genial Root.
By all our Saints, quoth he, his filthy Line
Was ne'er ally'd by kindred Blood to mine,
But I with Craft usurp'd the specious Name,
The more to visit you, my lovely Dame,
For whom full oft I feel a tingling Smart,
And whose sweet Face is pictur'd in my Heart:
Then now, my Love, dismiss your anxious Fear,
And let me all the sad Narration hear,
Unfold your Grievance, ere his frightful Face
Imperious comes, and drives you from the Place.
Ah! Dear Sir John, reply'd the conscious Dame,
Fain would I hide a Husband's secret Shame,
My Heart should cover what my Lips unfold,
But ah! 'twill burst, nor can I longer Hold.

My wicked Husband is the vilest Man
That e'er vex'd Woman since the World began,
And tho', it may be, she's a naughty Wife,
Who tells the Secrets of her private Life,
A Wife, they say, should be a prudent Dame,
And hugely careful of her Husband's Fame;
Yet I of Husbands this Experience have,
That mine's a worthless, mean, penurious Knave.
You know we Women six Delights pursue,
And 'tis our Nature to demand our Due,
A Man that's bold, rich, airy, wise and free,
A Man that's buxom, is the Spouse for me.
Now I must pay a hundred Franks in Town,
The Purchase of a rich embroider'd Gown,
That for his Credit I with decent Pride
May dress next Sunday like a Merchant's Bride,
But if I don't wipe off this large Arrear,
The least Neglect will cost me wondrous dear;
And I'd chuse rather to be still unborn
Than stand expos'd to any Tradesman's Scorn;
But if my Husband should this Secret gain,
I'm lost for ever, and shall die with Pain.
Then, good Sir John, lend me a hundred Franks,
And I'll return them with a thousand Thanks,
I'll surely pay you with a speedy Care,
And grant you all the Favours that I dare,
For if I fail you on th'appointed Time,
May Heav'n in Anger then pursue the Crime,
And Fate confound me with a dire Mischance
As great as e'er was Genilon's of France.
Sir John was tickled with a secret Flame,
And thus return'd his Answer to the Dame:
By all that's sacred I devoutly swear
That I for you a vast Affection bear,
And now with Joy embrace the friendly Part
To ease the Cares that vex your anxious Heart;
For when your Husband is to Flanders gone,
Depend upon't, your Business shall be done;
Be sure that you our mutual Oath uphold,
And take this Kiss in Earnest of my Gold;
Go, order Dinner to be ready soon,
For by my Dial 'tis the Hour of Noon.

Away she scamper'd with a smiling Look,
And issu'd forth her Orders to the Cook,
Then quick she mounted to the Chamber Floor,
And knock'd full boldly at the Counter Door.
Qui lá? quoth he: 'Tis I am here, my Love,
What mean you thus to sit and starve above?
Lord! when will all this long Account be made?
The Duce confound these tedious Folks of Trade;
Thy Wealth has prosper'd to a large Degree,
And Mammon is a bounteous God to thee.
Then let thy Bags in Peace a while remain,
And plod no longer on these Works of Gain.
For is it not a most unfriendly Crime
That poor Sir John goes fasting all this Time?
'Tis highly shameful he should starve and pine,
Then prithee come, let's go to Mass, and dine.

Dame, quoth the Merchant, thou'rt a simple Wife,
And unexperienc'd in a Tradesman's Life,
Nor dost thou know what dang'rous Slips are made,
What mighty Hazards are sustain'd in Trade,
For by the Shrine of our ador'd Saint Ive,
Scarce ten in twenty make a shift to thrive,
A Tradesman has a Warfare here below,
And he must ever make a thriving Show,
Must bear the Outside of a wealthy Man,
And drive the World before him as he can;
Be sure with Caution his Affairs to hide,
'Till Death approach, or 'till he steps aside.
For thus 'tis needful in this worldly Strife
To sail with Credit down the Stream of Life,
A small Experience will in Time persuade
That full of Dangers is the Chance of Trade.

You know to Morrow at the Dawn of Day
That I to Bruges must pursue my Way,
But I'll dispatch me with a speedy Care,
Nor do I mean to play the Rover there.
Now I beseech thee to regard thy Life,
And show the Prudence of a frugal Wife,
Thou hast enough in Conscience for thy Store,
Nor can a thrifty Huswife ask for more;
Thy Stock of Victuals will the House uphold,
Thy Clothes are new, thy Purse is lin'd with Gold;
A Wife like thee can never say she's poor:
And at the Word he lock'd his Counter Door,
Then down he came, a Mass was quickly said,
And all in haste the Table-cloth was laid,
The Board was fill'd with ev'ry dainty Thing,
And gay Sir John was feasted like a King.

When Grace was said, Sir John with silent Fear
Thought on the Promise that he ow'd his Dear;
Then took the Merchant to a private Place,
And thus bespoke him with an earnest Face,
I see, dear Cousin, Things are order'd so
That you to Bruges are resolv'd to go,
May Heav'n attend you with a signal Care,
And good Saint Austin be your Guardian there,
But O my Friend, be thoughtful how you ride,
Go wisely on, and Temp'rance be your Guide,
And if there's any Thing by Day, by Night,
And if 'tis in my Pow'r or in my Might,
Declare with Freedom what your Soul would have,
And you at Pleasure may command your Slave.

But ere you go, this one Request attend,
And grant a fond Petition of your Friend,
I beg you'd lend me for a distant Day
A hundred Franks, which I'm oblig'd to pay,
For certain Beasts a Field of ours to store:
I wish with all my Heart 'twas yours, and more.
But guard it close from any conscious Sight,
And let your Hand be secret as the Night;
So shall my Heart this friendly Act revere,
And all the Favours I've experienc'd here.

Coz., quoth the Merchant, 'tis a small Request,
My Purse is open at my Friend's Behest;
Nay all my Stores I gladly would unfold,
And you as freely may command my Gold.
But this your just Experience must allow
That ready Rhino is the Trader's Plough,
For tho' with Credit we a while may borrow,
And none who lends to Day, will ask to Morrow,
Yet to be plain, I cannot think 'tis clever
To let a courteous Tradesman stay for ever;
But, dear Sir John, your own Convenience use,
The Time's most proper that my Friend shall chuse.

With that he told him out a hundred Franks,
He cring'd obsequious, and return'd his Thanks,
Nor did a Soul this private Business hear,
But all was close from ev'ry Eye and Ear.
Then in they came to drink, and chat, and play,
And laugh'd and revell'd in the usual Way;
Thus past the Evening, till returning home
Forth rode Sir John, and reach'd the Abbey Dome.

When Morning rose, the Merchant crost his Steed,
And pac'd to Bruges with an earnest Speed;
In all his Acts he shew'd a worldly Care,
And bargain'd cheap for ev'ry Dealer's Ware;
Nor revell'd he in any Lady's Vice,
Nor gam'd with Bullies at the Box and Dice,
Nor broke th'Allegiance that he ow'd his Wife,
But wisely led an honest Tradesman's Life,

A few Days after gay Sir John appear'd,
Fresh was his Look, and newly shav'd his Beard;
The House receiv'd him with their usual Grace,
And all were pleas'd to see his gen'rous Face.
But now to lead ye with a brisker Gale,
And touch the sov'reign Crisis of my Tale,
'Twas order'd so, that by a crafty Game
This golden Sum was paid the Merchant's Dame,
Sir John regal'd it with this lovely Wife,
And both my Cousins led a buxom Life,
'Till he in Prudence saw his Hour to start,
And so took Leave as usual to depart,
For all was manag'd with a dext'rous Care,
Nor was Sir John at all suspected there:
Thence we'll behold him on his Journey home,
Or leave him where his Fancy pleas'd to rome.

But now from Fair the punctual Merchant came,
And gallop'd home to banquet with his Dame;
Full much he chatted o'er their plenteous Cheer,
The Mart was bad, and Things so wondrous dear,
That he in a Recognizance was bound,
And had engag'd to pay a thousand Pound,
And now to Paris must he bend his Care,
To sue for Aid his rich Acquaintance there.

To Paris then this thrifty Merchant rode,
And shap'd his Progress to Sir John's Abode,
Yet not to him of craving Wants begun,
Nor feign'd a Visit to disguise a Dun;
But made his Entrance in a gen'rous Way,
Like old Acquaintance to regale and play.
Sir John with Rapture view'd his friendly Guest,
And soon prepar'd him a luxurious Feast;
The Merchant prattled with a chearful Air,
And told him all his Business at the Fair;
But talk of Money stung Sir John with Pain,
And thus he answer'd in a flatt'ring Strain.
I'm glad, dear Cousin, you're return'd in Health,
And were I blest with any Hoard of Wealth,
Did my lean Purse in worldly Pelf abound,
I'd freely aid you with a thousand Pound.
The Gold you lent me, I repay'd your Dame,
And she by certain Tokens knows the same.
But I must now important Calls attend,
And urgent Business tears me from my Friend;
Adieu! may Fortune crown your prosp'rous Life,
Adieu! and greet me to your beauteous Wife.

The Merchant soon dispatch'd his grand Affair,
And hasted homeward with a joyful Air,
Flush'd with Success he found in ev'ry Part
That a full Purse procures the lightest Heart,
For Tradesman like he gilded all his Pain,
And knew the Cost was nothing to the Gain.

To meet her Spouse advanc'd his lovely Dame,
As 'twas her duteous Custom when he came.
In Scenes of Mirth they spent the welcome Day,
And revell'd in Extravagance of Play;
For he was quite a Stranger to the Spleen,
The Smiles of Fortune in his Looks were seen,
He shar'd no pining Debtor's baleful Curse,
Nor felt the Plagues that haunt an empty Purse;
So when they'd box'd about the jovial Cause,
And weary Mirth at last requir'd a Pause,
The Merchant thus bespoke his am'rous Dame,
And seem'd to kindle with an angry Flame.

I thought you'd been a more ingenuous Wife
Than thus to raise me such a hateful Strife,
To make my Cousin's friendly Love decline,
And set his Heart at Variance so with mine.
For sure you ought in Prudence to have told,
That he to you had first return'd my Gold.
I guess that he some dark Resentment took,
And view'd Disturbance in his cloudy Look.
Then tell me, Dear, if any one there be
Who in my Absence pays his Debts to thee,
Lest I perhaps assert a dang'rous Claim,
And wrong my Friend by some injurious Aim.

She heard with Anger, and began to rave,
I tell thee, Dear, Sir John's a scoundrel Knave,
For by th'immortal Pow'rs I thought that he
Had made a Present of this Gold to me,
And by a gen'rous Gratitude exprest
The just Requital of a welcome Guest.
But if my Spouse this small Demand pursues,
And claims from me the Payment of his Dues,
Come, take the Tribute of my youthful Charms,
And cancel all those Payments in my Arms,
For hear me now the serious Truth unfold;
That on my Habit I've bestow'd your Gold.
Believe me, Dearest, I regard your Fame,
And fain would dress me like a Merchant's Dame
My blooming Joys shall all these Debts remove,
And I'll be never in Arrears of Love,
My Arms shall meet thee with a pleasing Chear,
Come, turn thee hither, and forgive thy Dear.

The Merchant found it was in vain to chide,
And feigning Kindness thus bespoke his Bride,
Since what is past we never can recall,
I wave the Payment, and forgive thee all;
But prithee Wife, these costly Airs with-hold,
And be no more so lavish of my Gold.
Thus ends my Tale; may Fortune crown our Lives
With Wealth enough for us, and something for our Wives.