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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| II. |
| III. | Dialogue III. Between a dying Wife, and a profligate Husband.
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| IX. |
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| XI. |
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| XVII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
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| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
 | II. |
 | Nuptial Dialogues and Debates |  |
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Dialogue III. Between a dying Wife, and a profligate Husband.
Wife.Now, dear Philander, we shall quickly part,
My Eyes grow dim, and Death has seiz'd my Heart:
I hope ere long to be for ever bless'd,
Where happy Souls by Angels are caress'd,
And dwell in Peace above the spangl'd Skies,
Where no Disputes or nuptial Jars arise;
But where the vertuous Wife shall be secur'd
From all those Hardships she on Earth endur'd.
My dear Philander, now too late you know
'Tis to your Wrongs that I my Sickness owe;
Those fatal Slights, which you so oft have show'd,
Have crush'd me down beneath their pond'rous Load.
Had you been kind, I might have long surviv'd
Th'approaching Hour, and twice my Age have liv'd;
But you, alas! have shook the fatal Glass,
And now the fleeting Sands pour down apace.
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Forgive me, Dear, I own I've been unkind,
But let not what is pass'd disturb thy Mind:
Chear up thy Spirits, comfort up thy Heart,
Thou'rt yet but young, it is too soon to part.
I'm sure you will not die this Bout; for Wives,
Like Cats, the Wise report, have many Lives;
Therefore a Woman's Sickness who would heed?
They threaten long before they go indeed.
Wife.
I know my Pangs cannot affect your Breast,
But 'tis a dreadful Season for a Jest:
Have Patience, in a little Time you'll see
Death will dissolve the Tye, and set you free;
My last unhappy Day is fled and gone,
No more shall I behold the rising Sun,
Or from this cold uncomfortable Bed
Of Sorrow, move or raise my dying Head.
Feel my slow Pulse, thou stony hearted Man;
Behold my Icy Cheeks so pale and wan:
Can you believe I have the impious Art
To thus dissemble Death in ev'ry Part?
O! cruel Wretch, that can forbear to shed
One Tear of Sorrow from a shaking Head,
Nor warm my frozen Cheeks amidst my Pains
With one poor Kiss, whilst fading Life remains.
Tho' you have long been faithless and unkind,
Yet sure my Mis'ries might affect your Mind,
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To drop at parting one relenting Tear.
Husband.
Were you as sick as you pretend to be,
And I the ghastly Signs of Death could see;
If Tears would make the palled Tyrant fly,
I then perhaps might play the Fool, and cry;
But Women have such Ways, that few can tell
When they're in Jest or Earnest, sick or well,
Because they're subject to dissemble Pain,
And oft, for little Cause, or none, complain.
Wife.
O! faithless Man, O! unbelieving Wretch,
Do you not hear my weak and falt'ring Speech?
Can my numb'd Arms, my cold and clammy Sweats,
And trembling Agonies, be Counterfeits?
Can my dead Feet, more cold than Ice or Stone,
Be owing to Dissimulation?
Do my Lips shiver, and my Eye-balls start,
By th'Pow'r of vile Hypocrisy and Art?
O! gaze with Pity on your injur'd Wife;
Repent those Ills that have abridg'd her Life;
Forsake those gaudy Serpents which you prize,
Those Basilisks who poys'n ye with their Eyes;
Those treach'rous Snakes, those Wantons of the Town.
Who've been my Ruin, and will prove your own;
Exclude their Charms from your unwary Breast,
Or you'll be curs'd on Earth, when I am blest.
Do you not hear my weak and falt'ring Speech?
Can my numb'd Arms, my cold and clammy Sweats,
And trembling Agonies, be Counterfeits?
Can my dead Feet, more cold than Ice or Stone,
Be owing to Dissimulation?
Do my Lips shiver, and my Eye-balls start,
By th'Pow'r of vile Hypocrisy and Art?
O! gaze with Pity on your injur'd Wife;
Repent those Ills that have abridg'd her Life;
Forsake those gaudy Serpents which you prize,
Those Basilisks who poys'n ye with their Eyes;
Those treach'rous Snakes, those Wantons of the Town.
Who've been my Ruin, and will prove your own;
Exclude their Charms from your unwary Breast,
Or you'll be curs'd on Earth, when I am blest.
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O! my dear Babe, what will of her become
When I am fled to my eternal Home?
How ill must that poor harmless Infant fare,
When left expos'd to such a Father's Care,
Whose wicked Life, by Heaven's just Decree,
Must be aveng'd upon his Progeny,
'Less divine Mercy timely steps between,
And kindly cuts off the Intail of Sin?
O! Heav'n, look down with Pity, and dispense
Thy Blessings on her tender Innocence;
Be thou, Omnipotence, her Vertues guard,
And keep her honest, tho' her Fate be hard;
Direct her Footsteps with thy Heav'nly Grace,
That no ill Action may her Charms debase;
And turn her Father's Heart, that he may be
Kinder to her, than he has prov'd to me.
When I am fled to my eternal Home?
How ill must that poor harmless Infant fare,
When left expos'd to such a Father's Care,
Whose wicked Life, by Heaven's just Decree,
Must be aveng'd upon his Progeny,
'Less divine Mercy timely steps between,
And kindly cuts off the Intail of Sin?
O! Heav'n, look down with Pity, and dispense
Thy Blessings on her tender Innocence;
Be thou, Omnipotence, her Vertues guard,
And keep her honest, tho' her Fate be hard;
Direct her Footsteps with thy Heav'nly Grace,
That no ill Action may her Charms debase;
And turn her Father's Heart, that he may be
Kinder to her, than he has prov'd to me.
Husband.
Thou still keep'st steady to thy old Extreams;
Scolding and Praying were thy usual Themes:
A Wife's Devotion is not worth a Pin,
Except the Husband be reprov'd therein;
Each Fault of his be sure must fetch a Groan,
Although perhaps she quite forgets her own.
Go on, my Dear, 'tis Pleasure to my Ears
To hear you mix Reflexions with your Pray'rs:
It looks as if you had not long to live,
Because you do not heartily forgive.
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I'm not disturb'd at your Unkindness past,
But grieve to see you slight me thus at last,
When a few Hours will all my Pains remove,
And put a Period to my nuptial Love.
Have I not always been a faithful Wife,
Regardful of the Comforts of your Life;
Careful and kind, obliging ev'ry Way,
Forward to please, and willing to obey?
And do I not deserve one Sigh or Groan
At the last dying Gasp, for what I've done?
O! wretched Woman, and ungrateful Man,
Whose Wrongs have rent my Heart at half my Span;
But I forgive thee with a Christian Mind,
And beg, when gone, you'll to my Child be kind.
O! now I'm sliding to my last Repose,
An Icy Circle does my Heart inclose.
Alas! where am I? Clouds of gloomy Night
Darken my Eye-balls, and eclipse the Light.
O! kneel, and pray for my expiring Soul;
Methinks I do o'er tossing Billows rowl;
The raging Seas around my Body flow,
And watry Mountains dash me to and fro.
Where's my Philander? O! assist me, Dear!
O! save me, G*d.—I sink—I know not where.
Husband.
Alas! she's gone indeed. O! wretched Man,
Well might such Vertue of her Wrongs complain:
None, her hard Suff'rings, but herself could tell;
Ill have I us'd her, who deserv'd so well:
Curse on the wanton Fair, that made me prove
So base and treach'rous to such faithful Love.
What an ungrateful Monster is a lewd
And vicious Husband to a Wife so good!
How proudly does the Traytor tyrannize
O'er Vertue, which he knows not how to prize,
Pleas'd that his Lordly Station gives him Pow'r
To plague and punish what he ought t'adore!
O! that my Tongue could utter what I feel;
'Till now, I never knew I lov'd so well:
But oh! she's gone, and all her Charms are fled,
Which once adorn'd and bless'd my Marriage-Bed:
Unworthy of those Favours I misus'd,
I've now for ever lost what I abus'd.
How oft have I, (when she has strove to please)
Like an imperious Wretch, disturb'd her Ease;
Study'd a thousand Ways to tease her Life,
With base unmanly Jealousies and Strife;
O! hateful Husband to so just a Wife.
Well might such Vertue of her Wrongs complain:
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Ill have I us'd her, who deserv'd so well:
Curse on the wanton Fair, that made me prove
So base and treach'rous to such faithful Love.
What an ungrateful Monster is a lewd
And vicious Husband to a Wife so good!
How proudly does the Traytor tyrannize
O'er Vertue, which he knows not how to prize,
Pleas'd that his Lordly Station gives him Pow'r
To plague and punish what he ought t'adore!
O! that my Tongue could utter what I feel;
'Till now, I never knew I lov'd so well:
But oh! she's gone, and all her Charms are fled,
Which once adorn'd and bless'd my Marriage-Bed:
Unworthy of those Favours I misus'd,
I've now for ever lost what I abus'd.
How oft have I, (when she has strove to please)
Like an imperious Wretch, disturb'd her Ease;
Study'd a thousand Ways to tease her Life,
With base unmanly Jealousies and Strife;
O! hateful Husband to so just a Wife.
What Pennance could I bear, to now retrieve
Such spotless Vertue from the silent Grave?
Kingdoms and Crowns I could with Joy resign,
Nay, the whole World to save her, were it mine:
But 'tis, alas! O! foolish Man, too late
To now redeem her from insulting Fate.
Farewel, thou best of Women, since thy Charms
Are early fled from my unworthy Arms,
Thy dying Words shall melt my stony Breast,
And pierce my weeping Soul whilst thou art blest;
Never from my repenting Thoughts depart,
But stand, like Brass, imprinted in my Heart.
Such spotless Vertue from the silent Grave?
Kingdoms and Crowns I could with Joy resign,
Nay, the whole World to save her, were it mine:
But 'tis, alas! O! foolish Man, too late
To now redeem her from insulting Fate.
Farewel, thou best of Women, since thy Charms
Are early fled from my unworthy Arms,
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And pierce my weeping Soul whilst thou art blest;
Never from my repenting Thoughts depart,
But stand, like Brass, imprinted in my Heart.
Come, my dear Babe, thou shalt my Mistress be;
Tho' to thy Mother false, I'll succour thee,
And, on thy charming Innocence, bestow
The high Regard I to her Goodness owe.
Thou, my dear Girl, shal't be my only Wife,
Joy of my Soul, and Comfort of my Life,
And with those Charms, thy Infant Years may boast,
Supply the matchless Blessings I have lost.
No more shall wanton Beauty, with her Eyes,
Poyson my Breast, and make my Heart her Prize;
Or tempt me with her Charms, so oft defil'd,
To be a careless Father to my Child.
No, my dear Angel, tho' I've been, 'tis true,
Unkind to thy dear Mother, and to you,
Yet now my Heart relents, and thou shal't see
The Love I owe to her, I'll pay to thee.
Tho' to thy Mother false, I'll succour thee,
And, on thy charming Innocence, bestow
The high Regard I to her Goodness owe.
Thou, my dear Girl, shal't be my only Wife,
Joy of my Soul, and Comfort of my Life,
And with those Charms, thy Infant Years may boast,
Supply the matchless Blessings I have lost.
No more shall wanton Beauty, with her Eyes,
Poyson my Breast, and make my Heart her Prize;
Or tempt me with her Charms, so oft defil'd,
To be a careless Father to my Child.
No, my dear Angel, tho' I've been, 'tis true,
Unkind to thy dear Mother, and to you,
Yet now my Heart relents, and thou shal't see
The Love I owe to her, I'll pay to thee.
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |