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The Ephesian Matron

A Comic Serenata, After the Manner of the Italian
  
  

 1. 
 2. 
SCENE II.
 3. 
 4. 
 5. 
 6. 
 7. 
 8. 


4

SCENE II.

The Matron, the Maid.
MATRON.
At length we're left alone,
And the sad widow may indulge her moan.
Receive me, earth, upon thy flinty breast,
Helpless, forlorn, undone, with pain opprest:
AIR.
And while, grown frantic with my woes,
I beat my bosom, tear my hair,
Come, ye furies; come, despair;
And grief that never comfort knows;
All your horrors here display;
Nor thou, O Death! be long away.

MAID.
So, there she lies upon the floor!
There never was such madness sure.
And will you, in the dreary gloom
Of this unwholesome tomb,
In sighs and tears your life consume?


5

MATRON.
What shou'd a wretched widow do?

MAID.
You're young and handsome yet,
And might another husband get;
Ay, that you might—or two.

MATRON.
No, no, I death prefer.

MAID.
The more fool you.

MATRON.
This only I entreat, my faithful maid,
That with me here you'll stay,
And see my breathless clay,
When I am dead, by my dear husband laid.

MAID.
Well, Madam, since I must I will.
But give me leave to say,
You'd better change your purpose still,
And act a wiser way.

6

AIR.
If I was a wife, and my dearest dear life,
Took it into his noddle to die,
E'er I took the whim, to be buried with him,
I think I'd know very well why.
If poignant my grief, I'd search for relief,
Not sink with the weight of my care;
A salve might be found, no doubt, above ground,
And I think I know very well where.
Another kind mate shou'd give me what Fate
Wou'd not from the former allow:
With him I'd amuse, the hours you abuse,
And I think I'd know very well how.
'Tis true I'm a maid, and so't may be said
No judge of the conjugal lot;
Yet marriage, I ween, has a cure for the spleen,
And I think I know very well what.