University of Virginia Library

In elder time when men were chaste,
And women had not got a taste,
It was ordain'd, to ease their cares,
The sexes should be link'd in pairs,
And pass the various scenes of life
Known by the names of Man and Wife.

To aid this scheme, so just and wise,
The male had vigour, strength and size:
Undaunted, active, bold, and brave,
And fearless or of wind or wave,
He scal'd the cliff's enormous steep,
He plung'd into the pathless deep,
And dar'd in open war engage
The lion's sanguinary rage.

Woman, as form'd to charm, and please,
Had more of elegance, and ease,
A finer shape, a fofter mien,
A heart more gentle, and serene.
Her smile was sunshine—in her face
Sat sweetness on the throne of grace:
The accents melted from her tongue
In all the harmony of song;
And every glance that left her eye
Was milder than a vernal sky.

As nature now had done her best,
She left to accident the rest.
To accident—you cry—Why, yes.
Yet think not that she acts by guess.
Events may baffle man's endeavour,
But nature is extremely clever,
And works with so exact a care,
She ne'er miscarries in a hair.
For now, when on a festal day
The sexes met, alert, and gay,
And, in their pastimes, sports, and dances,
Had interchang'd some tender glances,
Th' impassion'd heart began to own
A set of instincts yet unknown,
To throb with momentary fires,
And melt away in young desires.
In short, the men began to bow,
To sooth, to ogle, whine, and vow;
To haunt the solitary shade,
And whisper to the village maid.
The village maid, who knew not yet
The breeding of a sly coquette,
And could not, with an artful sigh,
Like modern ladies, smile, and lye,
Indulgent heard her lover's flame,
Frankly confest she felt the same,
And e'er the rosy-finger'd morn
Dried up the pearls upon the thorn,
Went with him, 'midst her virgin train,
In flow'rets drest, to Hymen's fane.

This mild divinity, so sung
By half the poets old, and young,
The patron of connubial truth,
Was now in all the bloom of youth;
Roses, fresh gather'd from the bush,
Sweet emblems of the female blush,
Wove in a wreath supremely fair,
Sat graceful on his auburn hair:
One hand sustain'd a torch on fire,
Significant of soft desire,
The other held in mystic shew
A broider'd veil of saffron hue:
Majestic flow'd his azure vest,
And rubies bled upon his breast.

The meek-ey'd God an age or so
Succeeded, and had much to do;
In crowds his eager vot'ries came,
His altars never ceas'd to flame:
Besides an off'ring, frank, and free,
First paid him as the marriage fee,
Some pretty toys of shells, and corals,
With sprigs of ever-blooming laurels,
And bowls of consecrated wine
Were yearly plac'd upon his shrine,
The gifts of many a grateful pair
Made happy by his guardian care.

It chanc'd three demons, fiends, or witches,
Ambition, vanity, and riches,
Walk'd out one evening bright, and fair,
To breathe a little country air;
And, as old Nick would have it, found
This soul enchanting spot of ground,
Where happy husbands, happy wives,
Enjoy'd the most delicious lives:
And resolv'd to buy, or hire
A vacant cottage of the squire.

They came, they settled; sooth'd, carest,
Politely treated every guest,
And, with a world of pains and labours,
Lectur'd their simple minded neighbours.
“My worthy friends! says Wealth, behold
The splendor of almighty gold;
These guineas here, these brilliant things,
Which bear the images of kings,
Within their little orbs contain
Fair pleasure's ever-smiling train,
And can to ev'ry swain dispense
Wit, spirit, virtue, taste, and sense.
Who but a fool, wou'd wed a Phillis
Whose only portion is her lillies?
For ever doom'd, in life's low shade,
To ply the mercenary spade,
Till some disease, whose nature such is
To set us on a pair of crutches,
Force you to plunder, beg, or steal
From charity an humble meal;
And send your age, for want of vittle,
To a poor alms-house, or the spittle.
Be wise, and, when you mean to wed,
Scorn the fair forms of white and red;
And court the nymph whose genial charms,
Rich as the fruits upon her farms,
Will pour upon your daily toil
Abundant floods of wine and oil.”

He said—Ambition then began
About the dignity of man,
He rallied all their groves, and springs,
And finely talk'd of queens, and kings:
It was, he thought, a want of grace
To mingle with the vulgar race;
For souls made up of heav'nly fire
Are form'd by nature to aspire.
He told them that a well-born wife
Ennobled every joy of life,
Without a patent gave her dear
Th' importance of a British peer;
Perhaps might to a prince ally him,
And make him cousin to old Priam.

While thus the fiends, with wily art,
Adroitly stole upon the heart,
And with their complaisance, and tales,
Had ruin'd more than half the males,
Gay Vanity, with smiles, and kisses,
Was busy 'mongst the maids, and misses.
“My dears! says she, those pretty faces
Speak you the sisters of the graces:
Immortal Venus wou'd be vain
To have you in her court, and train.
But sure, methinks, it something odd is,
That beauties who can match a goddess
Shou'd give their more than mortal charms
To a dull rustic's joyless arms,
A meer unanimated clod,
As much a lover as a God.
O let those eyes, which far outshine
The brightest sapphires of the mine,
Their precious orbs no longer roll
On fellows without wealth, or soul:
But fly, my charmers! fly the wretches,
Dame nature's first mishapen sketches,
Fly to the world where lords and squires
Are warm'd with more ethereal fires;
Where pleasure each gay moment wings,
Where the divine Mingotti sings:
So shall each all-commanding fair
Have her two pages, and a chair,
Fine Indian tissues, Mecklin laces,
Rich essences in china vases,
And rise on life's exalted scene
With all the splendor of a queen.

She spoke, and in a trice possest
The empire of the female breast:
And now the visionary maids
Disdain'd their Shepherds, and their shades;
In every dream with rapture saw
Three footmen, and a gilt landau,
Assum'd a fine majestic air,
And learnt to ogle, swim, and stare.
No longer beam'd the modest eye,
No longer heav'd the melting sigh.
Neglected love, whose blunted dart
Scarce once a year could wound a heart,
Hung up his quiver on a yew,
And, sighing, from the world withdrew.

However, as the wheel of life
Subsisted still in man and wife,
Th' aforesaid fiends, for reasons good,
Coupled the sexes as they cou'd.
For instance—Women made for thrones
Were match'd with ideots, sots, and drones;
And wits were every day disgrac'd
By honeys without sense, or taste:
Gay libertines of sixty-five,
With scarce a single limb alive,
Had young coquettes just in their teens,
As wanton as Circassia's queens;
And youths, whose years were scarce a score,
Were pair'd with nymphs of sixty-four.
Matters, in short, were so contrived,
The men were most divinely wiv'd;
The women too, to grace their houses,
Were blest with most accomplish'd spouses.

In two short months, perhaps in one,
Both sexes found themselves undone,
And came in crouds, with each an halter,
To hang poor Hymen on his altar.
The God, tho' arm'd but with his torch,
Intrepid met them in the porch:
And, while they hector, brawl, and bully,
Harangu'd them with the ease of Tully.

“Good folks! say he, it gives me pain
To hear you murmer, and complain,
When every barber in the town
Knows that the fault is all your own.
Seduc'd by show, misled by wealth,
Regardless of your peace, and health,
Panting for feathers, whims, and fashions,
You left plain nature's genuine passions,
And gave up all your real joys,
As indians sell their gold for toys.
You, madam! who was pleased to fix
Your wishes on a coach and six,
Obtain'd your end, and now you find
Your husband ought to ride behind;
You might have had, without offence,
A man of spirit, soul, and sense,
Wou'd you have stoop'd to take the air
In a plain chariot and a pair.
You too, my venerable sage!
Had you reflected on your age,
Wou'd scarce have took, to be undone,
A sprightly girl of twenty-one.
Your ladyship disdain'd to hear
Of any husband but a peer;
Was pleas'd your angel-form to barter
For a blue ribbon, and a garter:
And now, magnificently great,
You feel the wretchedness of state;
Neglected, injur'd, spurn'd, and poor,
The victim of an opera whore.
Your neighbour there, the wealthy cit,
Lke you is miserably bit:
Too proud to drag the nuptial chain
With the grave nymphs of Foster-lane,
He married, such his fatal aim was,
A lady Charlotte from St. James's:
And now supports, by scores, and dozens,
His very honourable cousins,
And entertains, with wine and cards,
Half the gay colonels of the guards.
Away, ye triflers! bear, endure
Afflictions which ye cannot cure:
At least with decency conceal
The pangs your follies make you feel,
In hopes that some obliging fever
Will ease you of your dears for ever.”

The crowd dismiss'd—the God began
To muse upon a better plan:
He saw that things grew worse and worse,
That marriage was become a curse;
And therefore thought it just and wise was
To rectify this fatal byas,
And in a tasteless world excite
Due rev'rence for his holy rite.
Full of his scheme he went one day
To a lone cottage in a shaw,
Where dwelt a nymph of strong and shrewd sense
Known by the name of Gammer Prudence,
Whom Hymen, with a bow and buss,
Address'd most eloquently thus.

“Goody! I've order'd Love to go
This evening to the world below;
He travels in a coach and sparrows,
With a new set of bows and arrows:
But yet the rogue's so much a child,
So very whimsical, and wild,
His head has such strange fancies in it,
I cannot trust him half a minute.
Were I to let the little wanton
Rove as he lists thro' every canton,
Without a check, without a rein,
The world would be undone again—
We soon shou'd see the lawns and groves
Quite fill'd with zephyrs, sighs, and doves,
With am'rous ditties, fairy dances,
Such as we read of in romances;
Where princes haunt the lonely rocks,
And dutchesses are feeding flocks.
Go then, my venerable dame!
And qualify his idle flame,
Instruct those hearts his arrows hit,
To pause, and have a little wit:
Bid them reflect, amidst their heat,
'Tis necessary Love should eat;
That in his most ecstatic billing
He possibly may want a shilling.
Persuade them, ere they first engage,
To study temper, rank, and age,
To march beneath my holy banners,
Congenial in their tastes and manners,
Completing just as heav'n design'd,
An union both of sex and mind.

He said—he press'd—the matron maid
Benevolent of heart obey'd,
Forsook her solitary grove,
And, waiting in the train of love,
Watch'd with the sober eye of truth
The workings of misguided youth:
And when the heart began to sigh,
To melt, to heave, to bleed, to die,
She whisper'd many a wise remark
With all the dignity of Clark—
She hop'd the ladies, in their choice:
Would listen to her awful voice:
She begg'd the men, while yet their lives
Were free from fevers, plagues, and wives,
Ere yet the chariot was bespoke,
To pause before they took the yoke.—
In short, when Cupid's lucky darts
Had pierc'd a pair of kindred hearts,
And Goody Prudence lik'd the houses,
Estates, and minds of both the spouses,
And found, exact to form and law,
The settlement without a flaw,
She frankly gave them leave to wed,
And sanctified the nuptial bed.

Th' event was such, the God became
Successful in his trade, and fame;
For both the parties, on their marriage,
Improv'd in temper, sense, and carriage;
Fair friendship ray'd on either breast
The sunshine of content, and rest;
Studious each other's will to please,
And bless'd with affluence and ease,
Without vexation, words or strife,
They calmly walk'd the road of life;
And, happy in their fondest joys,
Left a fine group of girls and boys,
Reflecting, lively, cool, and sage,
To shine upon a future age.