Poems, chiefly pastoral By John Cunningham. The second edition. With the Addition of several pastorals and other pieces |
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AN EPILOGUE,
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 | Poems, chiefly pastoral |  |
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AN EPILOGUE,
Spoke in the Character of Lady Townly, in the Provok'd Husband.
At lady—let me recollect—whose night is't?
No matter—at a circle the politest;
Taste summons all the satire she is able,
And canvasses my conduct to the table.
No matter—at a circle the politest;
Taste summons all the satire she is able,
And canvasses my conduct to the table.
“A wife reclaim'd, and by an husband's rigour!
A wife with all her appetites in vigour!
Lard! she must make a lamentable figure!
A wife with all her appetites in vigour!
Lard! she must make a lamentable figure!
“Where was her pride! Of ev'ry spark divested!
To mend, because a prudish husband press'd it!
What! to prefer his dull domestic quiet,
To the dear scenes of hurricane and riot!
Parties disclaim'd, the happy rout rejected!
Because at ten she's by her spouse expected!
Oh hideous! how immensely out of nature!
Don't you, my dears, despise the servile creature?
To mend, because a prudish husband press'd it!
What! to prefer his dull domestic quiet,
To the dear scenes of hurricane and riot!
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Because at ten she's by her spouse expected!
Oh hideous! how immensely out of nature!
Don't you, my dears, despise the servile creature?
Prudence, altho' the company be good,
Is often heard, and sometimes understood.
Suppose, to justify my reformation,
She'd give the circle this concise oration.
Is often heard, and sometimes understood.
Suppose, to justify my reformation,
She'd give the circle this concise oration.
“Ye giddy groupe of fashionable wives,
That in continued riot waste your lives;
Did ye but see the demons that descend,
The cares convulsive that on card, attend;
The midnight spectres that surround your chairs,
(Rage reddens here—there Avarice despairs)
You'd rush for shelter where contentment lies,
To the domestic blessings you despise.
That in continued riot waste your lives;
Did ye but see the demons that descend,
The cares convulsive that on card, attend;
The midnight spectres that surround your chairs,
(Rage reddens here—there Avarice despairs)
You'd rush for shelter where contentment lies,
To the domestic blessings you despise.
“Or if you've no regard to moral duty,
('Tis trite but true)—Quadrille will murder beauty.”
('Tis trite but true)—Quadrille will murder beauty.”
Taste is abash'd, (the culprit) I'm acquitted,
They praise the character they lately pity'd;
They promise to reform—relinquish play,
So break the tables up at—break of day.
They praise the character they lately pity'd;
They promise to reform—relinquish play,
So break the tables up at—break of day.
| Poems, chiefly pastoral | |