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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| XXIII. | Dialogue XXIII. Between a rattle-headed News-monger, and his prudent Wife.
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 | Nuptial Dialogues and Debates |  |
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Dialogue XXIII. Between a rattle-headed News-monger, and his prudent Wife.
Husband.Brave News, my Dear, it joys my Heart, I vow,
To see how blue the Jacobites look now,
Eugene has beat the French, and taken Lisle,
There's News, my Love, would make a Woman smile
No High Church Wasp can say there's nothing in't,
The Post-Man has confirm'd it; 'tis in print.
Bless me! I've won I know not what, my Dear,
Two Quarts of Claret, and three Pots of Beer,
'Efaith, and Six-pence too in ready Money:
There's Luck, my Girl, there's happy News, my Honey?
Wife.
You'd better mind your Shop, than teaze your Brains
With News of Sieges, Battles, and Campaigns,
Inflame your Passions and distract your Wits,
In scanning what each partial Blockhead writes;
Ill News they dare not tell you, and if good,
They make it ten times better than they shou'd.
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To hear what such State-Parrots tell the Town,
Which when you know, and think yourself more wise,
You're only stuff'd with Guesses, Shams, and Lies;
For tho', perhaps, some Truths they may impart,
Yet then 'tis dash'd and brew'd with so much Art,
That few Men are so skilful to refine
What's Sterling, from their base, tho' current Coin:
Besides, what bus'ness is't of yours to glean
The foreign Actions of the Great Eugene?
Or to be so importunate to know
What's done A broad by the brave Marlborough?
Should you neglect your Shop, and waste your Wealth,
In drinking this Great Man or t'others Health,
You'd find, if broke, that neither would maintain
Your Family, or set you up again.
Why therefore will you hourly run in quest
Of News, till beggar'd and become a Jest?
When let things happen either ill or well,
The Consequence at last the Truth must tell.
Till then, my Dear, you should with Patience wait,
Because let Good or Bad come soon or late,
You must with others, share the common Fate.
Husband.
Prithee, my Dear, mind selling of my Wares,
Women but little know of State-Affairs;
Wives, in these Times, should keep our Shops, whilst we
Compare the Prints, and see how things agree.
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And know no more of News than Jobbernole?
Why, prithee, ev'ry Cobler quits his Awl,
And twice a Day for Coffee leaves his Stall,
Purely to read, or if he can't, to hear
What Wonders we have done this present Year.
Porters, at ev'ry Corner of the Street,
Read nothing now but Post-Man and Gazette.
The Tritons of the Thames at ev'ry Stairs,
Who us'd to bawl and scold about their Fares,
Forget their Animosities of late,
And only squabble now about the State.
St. Magnes Carmen, who would curse when vext
At the Church-door, about whose Turn was next,
Have long forsaken their old heath'nish use,
And only wrangle now about the News.
If such Paltroons as these presume to pry
Into State-Secrets, why, my Dear, may'nt I?
If those, when round an Ale-house Kitchen-fire,
Of Fleets and Armies may at large enquire;
Talk loosely when a well-laid Project fails,
And watch the Changes of the Wind, for Mails,
Sure 'tis no Crime in such as I, to Con
The News, that I may know how things go on.
Why then should I, a foolish Wife to please,
Be kept more ign'rant than such Brutes as these?
Wife.
He's the most Ign'rant who neglects his Good,
To run with other Fools the Common Road;
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The less you do the more 'tis to your hurt;
Trade is your Substance, which you ought to mind,
But News a shadow to amuse Mankind;
And if you slight the former, thro' Mistake,
Like some vain Parrots for their Chatter's sake,
The Fable Puppy was as Wife a Creature,
And I should think you one of Æsop's Litter.
Besides, if News be canvass'd by such Vermin,
As Porters, Link-boys, Watermen, and Carmen,
What Man of Sense would waste six hours a day
To be as learn'd in Politicks as they,
Or who but Fools would value any sort
Of Pastime, once become the Rabble's sport?
If their Examples you so well esteem,
Why don't you swill Full-pots, and swear like them,
Prophane, Blaspheme, Lye, Squabble, Roar, and Fight,
And in Bear-Garden Combats take delight,
As well as to so eagerly pursue
That Fox, call'd News, as such loose Scoundrels do.
If they your printed Oracles defile,
Frown at one Passage, at another smile,
'Tis time for Tradesmen to despise the News,
And other Whims for their Diversion chuse.
Husband.
Away, you prating Woman, you are blind
To those Delights that we o'er Coffee find;
Here lies the Post-Man, and the learn'd Review,
There the Post-Boy and Observator too,
Here the Gazette, Currant, and Flying-Post;
There Pipes and Candle, by the Fire my Host;
Yonder the fam'd Rehearsal by himself;
Mugs, Dishes, Glasses, rang'd on ev'ry Shelf,
Before the Fire a Nest of boiling Pots,
All crown'd with Covers, like to high-crown'd Hats,
Some larger, like the Parents of the rest,
But all alike in sooty Mourning drest,
Large Bills in Lacquer'd Frames, the Walls adorn,
To cure the Pox, Gout, Dropsy, Stone, or Corn;
Washes to make your Beauty shine more bright,
And Powders that will bring black Teeth to white;
Amongst the rest, Rich Cordials to recover
A dying Patient or a fainting Lover,
At th'upper end a Bar of Wainscoat, where,
To change your Money, sits a Lady fair;
Over her tow'ring Head in rank and file
Stands Physick, some to Cure and some to Kill,
In order to supply, at little cost,
That want of Pow'r her fading Charms have lost.
To those Delights that we o'er Coffee find;
Here lies the Post-Man, and the learn'd Review,
There the Post-Boy and Observator too,
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There Pipes and Candle, by the Fire my Host;
Yonder the fam'd Rehearsal by himself;
Mugs, Dishes, Glasses, rang'd on ev'ry Shelf,
Before the Fire a Nest of boiling Pots,
All crown'd with Covers, like to high-crown'd Hats,
Some larger, like the Parents of the rest,
But all alike in sooty Mourning drest,
Large Bills in Lacquer'd Frames, the Walls adorn,
To cure the Pox, Gout, Dropsy, Stone, or Corn;
Washes to make your Beauty shine more bright,
And Powders that will bring black Teeth to white;
Amongst the rest, Rich Cordials to recover
A dying Patient or a fainting Lover,
At th'upper end a Bar of Wainscoat, where,
To change your Money, sits a Lady fair;
Over her tow'ring Head in rank and file
Stands Physick, some to Cure and some to Kill,
In order to supply, at little cost,
That want of Pow'r her fading Charms have lost.
In Change-time then the Guess croud in and out,
Some drink, some read, some smoak, some stare about,
Whilst others nettl'd with some News they hear,
Squirt too and fro, look round, and disappear;
One gravely cons o'er some authentick Print,
Pores till he's vex'd, then swears there's nothing in't.
Another, to a Grave attentive Croud,
Reads the Post-Man with all his Art aloud,
Pleas'd that each list'ning Merchant in the Room,
Should hear how well he can pronounce Vendosme;
A Third steps in and vents some strange Report,
Confirms the same by some great Man at Court,
Laughs in his sleeve to see us all amus'd,
And then steals out and leaves the Guest confus'd;
Others contend about the News they hear,
One says 'tis doubtful, t'other says 'tis clear,
At length a Wager is propos'd, and then,
When once commenc'd, 'tis back'd by Eight or Ten.
These are our Sports, and pray, what Man, to please
A Wife, would forfeit such Delights as these;
'Tis not the News that we alone pursue,
We've fifty Pastimes, yet untold to you,
The Papers are but Baits that draw us in
We meet before our Commedies begin;
For every Guest that enters plays his Part,
Or else our Farce don't signify a F---t;
And as for the Review and Observator,
They're the meer Zanies of our New Theatre,
They make the Mischief and begin the Fray,
Whilst I sit by and laugh, to see fair play,
Thrust in a word or so, to whet their Spleen,
And make their Malice and their Wits more keen,
I only read the News that I may know,
Which way to thwart a Jacobite, or so,
Or plague a High-Church Neighbour, when I find,
That Fortune shoots point-blank against his Mind.
Some drink, some read, some smoak, some stare about,
Whilst others nettl'd with some News they hear,
Squirt too and fro, look round, and disappear;
One gravely cons o'er some authentick Print,
Pores till he's vex'd, then swears there's nothing in't.
Another, to a Grave attentive Croud,
Reads the Post-Man with all his Art aloud,
Pleas'd that each list'ning Merchant in the Room,
Should hear how well he can pronounce Vendosme;
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Confirms the same by some great Man at Court,
Laughs in his sleeve to see us all amus'd,
And then steals out and leaves the Guest confus'd;
Others contend about the News they hear,
One says 'tis doubtful, t'other says 'tis clear,
At length a Wager is propos'd, and then,
When once commenc'd, 'tis back'd by Eight or Ten.
These are our Sports, and pray, what Man, to please
A Wife, would forfeit such Delights as these;
'Tis not the News that we alone pursue,
We've fifty Pastimes, yet untold to you,
The Papers are but Baits that draw us in
We meet before our Commedies begin;
For every Guest that enters plays his Part,
Or else our Farce don't signify a F---t;
And as for the Review and Observator,
They're the meer Zanies of our New Theatre,
They make the Mischief and begin the Fray,
Whilst I sit by and laugh, to see fair play,
Thrust in a word or so, to whet their Spleen,
And make their Malice and their Wits more keen,
I only read the News that I may know,
Which way to thwart a Jacobite, or so,
Or plague a High-Church Neighbour, when I find,
That Fortune shoots point-blank against his Mind.
Wife.
Those shallow Reasons lessen not your Crime,
Such foolish Trifles are not worth your time,
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Your self in height'ning Animosities;
What profit can attend such fruitless Ends,
But want, at least, of Business and of Friends;
The most you by such Measures can propose
Is loss of Trade, and the encrease of Foes:
What Man but you could keep his mind at Ease,
And waste his time in such Delights as these?
Prithee, for shame, reform your frantick Life,
And take, for once, good Counsel from a Wife,
Forsake your noisy Coffee-house and your News,
Where wrangling Pens the jarring World amuse.
Let Scriblers write and Party Zealots read,
Stay you at home and wisely mind your Trade;
For News is but a Policy of State,
To make the little Fools admire the great.
| Nuptial Dialogues and Debates | |