To throw away a widow's life,
When you again may be a wife?
Come on; I'll tell you my amours;
Who knows but they may influence yours?
"Example draws where precept fails,
"And fermons are lefs read than tales."
T. Sparrow, I take thee for my friend,
As fuch will hear thee: I defcend;
Hop on, and talk; but, honeft bird,
Take care that no immodeft word
May venture to offend my ear.
S. Too faint-like Turtle, never fear.
By method things are beft difcours'd,
Begin we then with Wife the firft:
A handfome, fenfelefs, awkward fool,
Who would not yield, and could not rule:
Her actions did her charms difgrace,
And still her tongue talk'd of her face :
Count me the leaves on yonder tree,
So many different wills had fhe,
And, like the leaves, as chance inclin❜d,
Thofe wills were chang'd with every
She courted the beau-monde to-night,
L'affemblée, her fupreme delight;
The next she fat immur'd, unfeen,
And in full health enjoy'd the spleen ;
She cenfur'd that, fhe alter'd this,
And with great care set all amifs;
She now could chide, now laugh, now cry,
Now fing, now pout, all God knows why:
Short was her reign, fhe cough'd, and dy’d.
Proceed we to my fecond bride:
Well-born fhe was, genteelly bred,
And buxom both at board and bed;
Glad to oblige, and pleas'd to please,
And, as Tom Southern wifely fays,
"No other fault had fhe in life,
"But only that he was my wife *."
O widow Turtle! every fhe
(So Nature's pleasure does decree)
Appears a goddess till enjoy'd;
But birds, and men, and gods are cloy'd.
Was Hercules one woman's man?
Or Jove for ever Leda's fwan?
Ah! madam, cease to be mistaken,
Few marry'd fowl peck Dunmow-bacon.
Variety alone gives joy,
The sweetest meats the fooneft cloy.
What fparrow-dame, what dove alive,
Though Venus fhould the chariot drive,
But would accuse the harness weight,
If always coupled to one mate;
And often wish the fetter broke?
'Tis freedom but to change the yoke.
T. Impious! to wish to wed again,
Ere death diffolv'd the former chain!
S. Spare your remark, and hear the reft
She brought me fons; but (Jove be bleft!)
She dy'd in child-bed on the neft.
See "The Wife's Excufe, a comedy."
Well, reft her bones! quoth I, fhe's gone;
But muft I therefore lie alone?
What am I to her memory ty'd?
Must I not live, becaufe fhe dy'd?
And thus I logically faid
('Tis good to have a reasoning head!)
Is this my wife? Probatur not;
For death diffolv'd the marriage-knot:
She was, concedo, during life;
But, is a piece of clay a wife?
Again; if not a wife, d'ye fee,
Why then no kin at all to me :
And he, who general tears can shed
For folks that happen to be dead,
May e'en with equal juftice mourn
For those who never yet were born.
T. Those points indeed you quaintly prove,
But logic is no friend to love.
S. My children then were just pen-feather'd; 265 Some little corn for them I gather'd,
And fent them to my spouse's mother;
So left that brood, to get another :
And, as old Harry whilom faid,
Reflecting on Anne Boleyn dead,
Cockfbones! I now again do stand
The jollieft bachelor i' th' land.
T. Ah me! my joys, my hopes, are fled;
My first, my only Love, is dead:
With endless grief let me bemoan
Columbo's lofs !-
As yet my fortune was but narrow,
I woo'd my cousin Philly Sparrow,
O' th' elder houfe of Chirping End,
From whence the younger branch descend.
Well feated in a field of peafe
She liv'd, extremely at her ease;
But, when the honey-moon was paft,
The following nights were foon o'ercaft;
She kept her own, could plead the law,
And quarrel for a barley-straw:
Both, you may judge, became lefs kind,
As more we knew each other's mind:
She foon grew fullen, I hard-hearted;
We fcolded, hated, fought, and parted.
To London, bleffed town! I went ;
She boarded at a farm in Kent.
A magpye from the country fled,
And kindly told me she was dead :
I prun'd my feathers, cock'd my tail,
And fet my heart again to fale.
My fourth, a mere coquette, or fuch
I thought her; nor avails it much,
If true or falfe; our troubles fpring
More from the fancy than the thing.
Two ftaring horns, I often faid,
But ill become a fparrow's head;
But then, to set that balance even,
Your cuckold fparrow goes to heaven.
The thing you fear, fuppofe it done,
If you inquire, you make it known.
Whilft at the root your horns are fore,
The more you fcratch, they ache the more.
You feel them from the time you
Cuckoo Cuckoo! that echoed word
Offends the ear of vulgar bird;
But those of finer tafte have found
There's nothing in't beside the found.
Preferment always waits on horns,
And household peace the gift adorns ;
This way, or that, let factions tend,
The fpark is ftill the cuckold's friend:
This way, or that, let madam roam,
Well pleas'd and quiet fhe comes home.
Now weigh the pleasure with the pain,
The plus and minus, lofs and gain,
And what La Fontaine laughing fays
Is ferious truth, in such a cafe ;
"Who flights the evil finds it least,
"And who does nothing, does the best.”
I never ftrove to rule the roaft,
She ne'er refus'd to pledge my toast:
In vifits if we chanc'd to meet,
I feem'd obliging, she discreet;
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