 | Mariamne |  |
77
EPILOGUE: SPOKEN BY Mrs. SEYMOUR.
The
Poet, in a whim extremely new,
Coupl'd me with a strange enamour'd Jew;
So violently fond! the loss of life
Was far less dreadful than to leave his wife:
Monster of love! he whisper'd in my ear,
I doat so much . . . I pr'ythee die, my dear!
Ladies, if such demands are made on beauty,
Defend us all from matrimonial duty!
One may support a living husband's folly;
But, let him feed the worms alone, for Molly—
Coupl'd me with a strange enamour'd Jew;
So violently fond! the loss of life
Was far less dreadful than to leave his wife:
Monster of love! he whisper'd in my ear,
I doat so much . . . I pr'ythee die, my dear!
Ladies, if such demands are made on beauty,
Defend us all from matrimonial duty!
One may support a living husband's folly;
But, let him feed the worms alone, for Molly—
And yet 'tis vain to reason, or to rail,
The tempter man was destin'd to prevail:
To hear him flatter, sigh, implore, protest,
A . . . je ne sçai quoi! . . . will flutter in the breast.
But o'er intrigues whatever planet reigns,
And fires to Bedlam-rage a lover's brains;
One honey-moon's sufficient to restore 'em
From wild impertinence, to cool decorum.
By this plain model had the play been wrought,
My Hebrew spark had acted as he ought;
With a keen appetite enjoy'd the feast,
And decently suffic'd, withdrawn to rest:
But, glutton-like, to grudge the world his Leaving,
Was wond'rous unpolite, to my conceiving!
Homer, who human nature nicely knew,
(Ye Critics, I read Greek . . . as well as you.)
In colours of a softer kind display'd
The husband civil, to the wife who stray'd.
Though Helen had elop'd, her gentle lord
Renew'd her forfeit claim to bed and board:
For which dear foible of the fair forgiv'n,
The Gods vouchsaf'd to send him Quick to heav'n:
And in no Spartan novel can I find,
The good man griev'd to leave his spouse behind.
In such gay lights when wedded life is shown,
What couple wou'd not wish the case their own?
But, Gallants, if you Herod's rule approve,
To give no quarter in the lists of love;
If jealous rage, or fond fantastic dreams,
Exalt your passion to such dire extremes:
Let each bright Mariamne chuse her man,
Then, kill us all . . . with kindness, if ye can.
The tempter man was destin'd to prevail:
To hear him flatter, sigh, implore, protest,
A . . . je ne sçai quoi! . . . will flutter in the breast.
78
And fires to Bedlam-rage a lover's brains;
One honey-moon's sufficient to restore 'em
From wild impertinence, to cool decorum.
By this plain model had the play been wrought,
My Hebrew spark had acted as he ought;
With a keen appetite enjoy'd the feast,
And decently suffic'd, withdrawn to rest:
But, glutton-like, to grudge the world his Leaving,
Was wond'rous unpolite, to my conceiving!
Homer, who human nature nicely knew,
(Ye Critics, I read Greek . . . as well as you.)
In colours of a softer kind display'd
The husband civil, to the wife who stray'd.
Though Helen had elop'd, her gentle lord
Renew'd her forfeit claim to bed and board:
For which dear foible of the fair forgiv'n,
The Gods vouchsaf'd to send him Quick to heav'n:
And in no Spartan novel can I find,
The good man griev'd to leave his spouse behind.
In such gay lights when wedded life is shown,
What couple wou'd not wish the case their own?
79
To give no quarter in the lists of love;
If jealous rage, or fond fantastic dreams,
Exalt your passion to such dire extremes:
Let each bright Mariamne chuse her man,
Then, kill us all . . . with kindness, if ye can.
FINIS.
| Mariamne | |