Let him not dare to vent his dang'rous thought;
A noble fool was never in a fault.
This, Sir, affects not you,
Is weigh'd with judgment,
whofe ev'ry word
and befits a Lord:
Your will is mine; and is (I will maintain)
Pleafing to God, and should be so to Man;
At least, your courage all the world muft praife,
Who dare to wed in your declining days.
Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood,
And let grey fools be indolently good,
Who past all pleasure, damn the joys of fenfe,
With rev'rend dulnefs, and grave impotence.
Juftin, who filent fate, and heard the man,
Thus, with a philofophic frown, began.
A heathen author, of the first degree,
(Who, tho' not Faith, had Sense as well as we)
Bids us be certain our concerns to truft
To thofe of gen'rous principles, and juft.
The venture's greater, I'll prefume to say,
To give your person, than your goods away:
And therefore, Sir, as you regard your reft,
First learn your Lady's qualities at least :
Whether fhe's chafte or rampant, proud or civil;
Meek as a faint, or haughty as the devil;
Whether an easy, fond, familiar fool,
Or fuch a wit as no man e'er can rule?
'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find
In all this world, much less in woman-kind;
But if her virtues prove the larger share,
Blefs the kind fates, and think your fortune rare.
Ah, gentle Sir, take warning of a friend,
Who knows too well the state you thus commend; 195
And, fpight of all its praises, must declare,
All he can find is bondage, coft, and care.
Heav'n knows, I fhed full many a private tear,
And figh in filence, left the world should hear:
While all my friends applaud my blissful life,
Ánd fwear no mortal's happier in a wife;
Demure and chafte as any vestal Nun,
The meekeft creature that beholds the fun!
But, by the immortal pow'rs, I feel the pain,
And he that smarts has reason to complain.
Do what you lift, for me; you must be sage,
And cautious fure; for wifdom is in Age:
But, at thefe years, to venture on the fair!
By him, who made the ocean, earth, and air,
To please a wife, when her occafions call,
Would bufy the most vig'rous of us all.
And trust me, Sir, the chastest you can chuse
Will ask obfervance, and exact her dues.
If what I fpeak my noble Lord offend,
My tedious fermon here is at an end.
'Tis well, 'tis wond'rous well, the Knight replies, Moft worthy kinfman, faith you're mighty wife! We, Sirs, are fools; and muit refign the cause To heath'nish authors, proverbs, and old faws. He fpoke with fcorn, and turn'd another way; 220 What does my friend, my dear Placebo fay?
I fay, quoth he, by heav'n the man's to blame, To flander wives, and wedlock's holy name.
At this, the council rofe, without delay;
Each, in his own opinion, went his way;
With full confent, that all disputes appeas'd,
The Knight should marry, when and where he pleas'd.
Who now but January exults with joy?
The charms of wedlock all his foul employ :
Each nymph by turns his wav'ring mind poffeft, 230
And reign'd the short-liv'd tyrant of his breast;
While fancy pictur'd ev'ry lively part,
And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart.
Thus, in fome publick Forum fix'd on high,
A Mirrour shows the figures moving by ;
Still one by one, in fwift fucceffion, pafs
The gliding fhadows o'er the polish'd glass.
This Lady's charms the niceft cou'd not blame,
But vile fufpicions had afpers'd her fame;
That was with fenfe, but not with virtue, bleft;
And one had grace,
that wanted all the reft.
Thus doubting long what nymph he fhou'd obey,
He fix'd at last upon the youthful May.
Her faults he knew not, Love is always blind,
But ev'ry charm revolv'd within his mind:
Her tender age, her form divinely fair,
Her eafy motion, her attractive air,
Her fweet behaviour, her enchanting face,
Her moving softness, and majestic grace.
Much in his prudence did our Knight rejoice, 250 And thought no mortal could dispute this choice: Once more in hafte he summon'd ev'ry friend, And told them all, their pains were at an end.
Heav'n, that (faid he) infpir'd me first to wed,
Provides a confort worthy of my bed;
Let none oppofe th' election, fince on this
Depends my quiet, and my future blifs.
A dame there is, the darling of my eyes,
Young, beauteous, artless, innocent and wife;
Chafte, tho' not rich, and tho' not nobly born,
Of honeft parents, and may serve my turn.
Her will I wed, if gracious heav'n so please;
To pafs my age in fanctity and ease:
And thank the pow'rs, I may pofiefs alone
The lovely prize, and share my bliss with none!
If you, my friends, this virgin can procure,
My joys are full, my happiness is fure.
One only doubt remains; Full oft' I've heard,
By cafuifts grave, and deep divines averr'd;
That 'tis too much for human race to know
The blifs of heav'n above, and earth below.
Now should the nuptial pleafures prove fo great,
To match the bleffings of the future state,
Thofe endless joys were ill exchang'd for thefe;
Then clear this doubt, and fet my mind at ease.
This Justin heard, nor could his spleen controul,
Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the soul.
Sir Knight, he cry'd, if this be all you dread,
Heav'n put it past your doubt, whene'er you wed;
And to my fervent pray'rs fo far consent,
That e'er the rites are o'er, you may repent!
Good heav'n no doubt the nuptial state approves,
Since it chaftifes ftill what beft it loves.
Then be not, Sir, abandon'd to despair;
Seek, and perhaps you'll find, among the fair, 285
One, that may do your bufinefs to a hair;
Not ev'n in wifh, your happiness delay,
But prove
the scourge to lash you on your way:
Then to the fkies your mounting foul shall go,
Swift, as an arrow foaring from the bow!
Provided still, you moderate your joy,
Nor in your pleasures all your might employ,
Let reafon's rule your ftrong defires abate,
Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate.
Old wives there are, of judgment moft acute,
Who folve thefe queftions beyond all difpute;
Confult with those, and be of better chear;
Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear.
So faid, they rofe, nor more the work delay'd;
The match was offer'd, the proposals made.
The parents, you may think, would foon comply;
The Old have int'reft ever in their eye.
Nor was it hard to move the Lady's mind,
When fortune favours, ftill the Fair are kind.
I pass each previous fettlement and deed, Too long for me to write, or you to read; Nor will with quaint impertinence display The
pomp, the pageantry, the proud array.
The time approach'd, to Church the parties went,
At once with carnal and devout intent:
Forth came the Prieft, and bade th' obedient wife
Like Sarah or Rebecca, lead her life:
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