I follow'd but my crafty crony's lore,
Who bid me tell this lie--and twenty more.

Thus day by day, and month by month we past, It pleas'd the Lord to take my spouse at last, I tore my gown, I soil'd my locks with dust, And beat my breasts, as wretched widows--must. Before my face my handkerchief I spread, To hide the flood of tears I did--not shed. The good man's coffin to the church was borne; Around, the neighbours, and my clerk too, mourn. But as he march'd, good gods! he show'd a pair Of legs and feet, so clean, so strong, so fair! Of twenty winters age he seem'd to be, I (to say truth) was twenty more than he; But vigorous still, a lively buxom dame; And had a wondrous gift to quench a flame. A conjuror once, that deeply could divine, Assur'd me, Mars in Taurus was my sign. As the stars order'd, such my life has been: Alas, alas, that ever love was sin! Fair Venus gave me fire and sprightly grace, And Mars assurance and a dauntless face. By virtue of this powerful constellation, I follow'd always my own inclination.

But to my tale: A month scarce pass'd away, With dance and song we kept the nuptial day. All I possess'd I gave to his command,

My goods and chattels, money, house and land: But oft repented, and repent it still;

He prov'd a rebel to my sovereign will:

Nay once, by Heaven, he struck me on the face; Hear but the fact, and judge yourselves the case. Stubborn as any lioness was I;

And knew full well to raise my voice on high;

As true a rambler as I was before,

And would be so, in spite of all he swore.
He against this right sagely would advise,
And old examples set before my eyes;
Tell how the Roman matrons led their life,
Of Gracchus' mother, and Duilius' wife;

And close the sermon, as beseem'd his wit,

With some grave sentence out of holy writ.
Oft would he say, "Who builds his house on sands,
Pricks his blind horse across the fallow lands;
Or let his wife abroad with pilgrims roam,
Deserves a fool's-cap, and long ears at home.'
All this avail'd not; for whoe'er he be
That tells my faults, I hate him mortally:
And so do numbers more, I boldly say,
Men, women, clergy, regular, and lay.

My spouse (who was, you know, to learning bred)

A certain treatise oft at evening read,

Where divers authors (whom the devil confound
For all their lies) were in one volume bound.
Valerius, whole; and of St. Jerome, part;
Chrysippus and Tertullian, Ovid's Art,
Solomon's Proverbs, Eloïsa's loves;

And many more than sure the church approves.
More legions were there here of wicked wives,
Than good in all the Bible and saints' lives..
Who drew the lion vanquish'd? 'twas a man.
But could we women write as scholars can,

Men should stand mark'd with far more wicked

ness,

Than all the sons of Adam could redress.

Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies,
And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.

Those play the scholars, who can't play the men,
And use that weapon which they have, their pen;
When old, and past the relish of delight,
Then down they sit, and in their dotage write,
That not one woman keeps her marriage vow.
(This by the way, but to my purpose now).

It chanc'd my husband, on a winter's night,
Read in this book, aloud, with strange delight,
How the first female (as the Scriptures show)
Brought her own spouse and all his race to woe.
How Samson fell; and he whom Dejanire
Wrapp'd in the envenom'd shirt, and set on fire.

How curs'd Eryphile her lord betray'd,
And the dire ambush Clytemnestra laid.

But what most pleas'd him was the Cretan Dame,
And Husband-bull---oh monstrous! fy for shame!
He had by heart the whole detail of woe
Xantippe made her good man undergo;
How oft she scolded in a day, he knew,
How many piss-pots on the sage she threw,
Who took it patiently, and wip'd his head;
'Rain follows thunder,' that was all he said.

He read, how Arius to his friend complain'd,
A fatal tree was growing in his land,

On which three wives successively had twin'd
A sliding noose, and waver'd in the wind

'Where grows this plant,' replied the friend, ol where?

For better fruit did never orchard bear :

Give me some slip of this most blissful tree,
And in my garden planted shall it be.'

Then how two wives their lord's destruction

prove,

Through hatred one, and one through too much

love;

That for her husband mix'd a poisonous draught, And this for lust an amorous philtre bought:

The nimble juice soon seiz'd his giddy head,

Frantic at night, and in the morning dead.

How some with swords their sleeping lords have

slain,

And some have hammer'd nails into their brain, And some have drench'd them with a deadly

potion;

All this he read, and read with great devotion. Long time I heard, and swell'd, and blush'd, and frown'd:

But when no end of these vile tales I found, When still he read, and laugh'd, and read again, And half the night was thus consum'd in vain: Provok'd to vengeance, three large leaves I tore,

And with one buffet fell'd him on the floor.
With that my husband in a fury rose,

And down he settled me with hearty blows.
I groan'd, and lay extended on my side;
Oh! thou hast slain me for my wealth,' I cried,
Yet I forgive thee---take my last embrace---'
He wept, kind soul! and stoop'd to kiss my face,
I took him such a box as turn'd him blue,

Then sigh'd and cried, Adieu, my dear, adieu!'

But after many a hearty struggle past,

I condescended to be pleas'd at last.

Soon as he said, My mistress and my wife,
Do what you list, the term of all your life;'
I took to heart the merits of the cause,
And stood content to rule by wholesome laws;
Receiv'd the reins of absolute command,
With all the government of house and land,
And empire o'er his tongue, and o'er his hand.
As for the volume that revil'd the dames,
'Twas toru to fragments, and condemn'd to flames.

Now Heaven on all my husbands gone bestow Pleasures above for tortures felt below:

That rest they wish'd for, grant them in the grave, And bless those souls my conduct help'd to save!

THE FIRST BOOK OF

STATIUS HIS THEBAIS.

Translated in the Year 1703.

THE ARGUMENT.

Edipus king of Thebes, having by mistake slain his father Laïus, and married his mother Jocasta, put out his own eyes, and resigned the realm to his sons, Eteocles and Polynices. Being neglected by them, he makes his prayer to the fury Tisiphone, to sow debate betwixt the brothers. They agree at last to reign singly, each a year by turns, and the first lot is obtained by Eteocles. Jupiter, in a council of the gods, declares his resolution of punishing the Thebans, and Argives also, by means of a marriage betwixt Polynices and one of the daughters of Adrastus, king of Argos. Juno opposes, but to no effect; and Mercury is sent on a message to the Shades, to the ghost of Laïus, who is to appear to Eteocles, and provoke him to break the agreement. Polynices in the mean time departs from Thebes by night, is overtaken by a storm, and arrives at Argos; where he meets with Tydeus, who had fled from Calydon, having killed his brother. Adrastus entertains them, having received an oracle from Apollo, that his daughter should be married to a boar and a lion,