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Their branches shoot, their antlers spread;
Fruitful suspicions often bear them,
You feel them from the time you fear them.
Cuckoo! cuckoo! that echoed word
Offends the ear of vulgar bird;

But those of finer taste have found,
There's nothing in 't beside the sound.
Preferment always waits on horns,
And household peace the gift adorns;
This way, or that, let factions tend,
The spark is still the cuckold's friend;
This way, or that, let madam roam,
Well pleased and quiet she comes home.
Now weigh the pleasure with the pain,
The plus and minus, loss and gain,
And what La Fontaine laughing says,
Is serious truth, in such a case;
Who slights the evil, finds it least;
And who does nothing, does the best.'
I never strove to rule the roast,
She ne'er refused to pledge my toast;
In visits if we chanced to meet,
I seemed obliging, she discreet;
We neither much caressed nor strove,
But good dissembling passed for love.

T. Whate'er of light our eye may know,
"Tis only light itself can show;
Whate'er of love our heart can feel,
'Tis mutual love alone can tell.

S. My pretty, amorous, foolish bird, A moment's patience! In one word, The three kind sisters broke the chain, She died, I mourned, and wooed again,

T. Let me with juster grief deplore

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My dear Columbo, now no more;
Let me with constant tears bewail;

S. Your sorrow does but spoil my tale.
My fifth, she proved a jealous wife,
Lord shield us all from such a life;
'Twas doubt, complaint, reply, chitchat,
"Twas this, to-day; to-morrow, that.
Sometimes, forsooth, upon the brook
I kept a miss; an honest rook
Told it a snipe, who told a steer,
Who told it those who told it her.

One day a linnet and a lark
Had met me strolling in the dark;
The next a woodcock and an owl,
Quick-sighted, grave, and sober fowl,
Would on their corporal oath allege,
I kissed a hen behind the hedge.
Well, madam turtle, to be brief,
(Repeating but renews our grief)
As once she watched me from a rail,
(Poor soul!) her footing chanced to fail,
And down she fell, and broke her hip;
The fever came, and then the pip:
Death did the only cure apply:

She was at rest, and so was I.

T. Could love unmoved these changes view; His sorrows, as his joys, are true.

S. My dearest dove, one wise man says, Alluding to our present case,

'We're here to-day and gone to-morrow:' Then what avails superfluous sorrow!

Another, full as wise as he,

Adds; that a married man may see

Two happy hours;' and which are they;

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The first and last, perhaps you'll say!
"Tis true, when blithe she goes to bed,
And when she peaceably lies dead;
'Women 'twixt sheets are best, 'tis said,
Be they of holland, or of lead.'

Now, cured of Hymen's hopes and fears,
And sliding down the vale of years,
I hoped to fix my future rest,
And took a widow to my nest,
(Ah, turtle! had she been like thee,
Sober, yet gentle, wise, yet free!)
But she was peevish, noisy, bold,
A witch ingrafted on a scold.
Jove in Pandora's box confined
A hundred ills, to vex mankind;
To vex one bird, in her bandore,
He had at least a hundred more.
And, soon as time that veil withdrew,
The plagues o'er all the parish flew;
Her stock of borrowed tears grew dry,
And native tempests armed her eye;
Black clouds around her forehead hung,
And thunder rattled on her tongue.
We, young or old, or cock or hen,
All lived in Æolus's den;

The nearest her, the more accursed,

Ill fared her friends, her husband worst.
But Jove amidst his anger spares,
Remarks our faults, but hears our prayers.
In short, she died. Why then she's dead,
Quoth I, and once again I'll wed.

Would heaven, this mourning year were

past!

One may have better luck at last.

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Matters at worst are sure to mend,
The Devil's wife was but a fiend.

T. Thy tale has raised a turtle's spleen,
Uxorious inmate! bird obscene!
Dar'st thou defile these sacred groves,
These silent seats of faithful loves!
Begone, with flagging wings sit down
On some old penthouse near the town;
In brewers' stables peck thy grain,
Then wash it down with puddled rain;
And hear thy dirty offspring squall
From bottles on a suburb wall.
Where thou hast been, return again,
Vile bird! thou hast conversed with men;
Notions like these from men are given,
Those vilest creatures under Heaven.
To cities and to courts repair,
Flattery and falsehood flourish there;
There all thy wretched arts employ,
Where riches triumph over joy;

Where passion does with interest barter,
And Hymen holds by Mammon's charter;
Where truth by point of law is parried,
And knaves and prudes are six times married.

APPLICATION,

WRITTEN LONG AFTER THE TALE.

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O DEAREST daughter,1 of two dearest friends,
To thee my muse this little tale commends.
Loving and loved, regard thy future mate,
Long love his person, though deplore his fate;
Seem young when old in thy dear husband's arms,
1 Lady Margaret Cavendish Harley.

For constant virtue has immortal charms.
And, when I lie low sepulchred in earth,
And the glad year returns thy day of birth,
Vouchsafe to say, 'Ere I could write or spell,
The bard, who from my cradle wished me well,
Told me I should the prating sparrow blame,
And bade me imitate the turtle's flame.'

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DOWN-HALL:

A BALLAD,1 TO THE TUNE OF KING JOHN AND THE
ABBOT OF CANTERBURY, 1715.

1 I SING not old Jason, who travelled through Greece, To kiss the fair maids, and possess the rich Fleece; Nor sing I Æneas, who, led by his mother,

Got rid of one wife, and went far for another:

Derry down, down, hey derry down.

2 Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam, Ulysses by name, who ne'er cried to go home, But rather desired to see cities and men,

Than return to his farms, and converse with old Pen.

3 Hang Homer and Virgil! their meaning to seek, A man must have poked into Latin and Greek; Those who love their own tongue, we have reason to hope,

Have read them translated by Dryden and Pope.

4 But I sing of exploits that have lately been done By two British heroes, called Matthew and John:2

1 Down-hall in the county of Essex, three miles south-east from Hatfield Broad Oak Church, beautifully seated on a rising ground, above a stream which runs through Hatfield town, having a fine prospect over the adjacent country; purchased for Prior by his friend Lord Harley. Mr Prior, and Mr John Morley, of Halstead.

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