Classic Poem

Supposed to be spoken by one who was threaten'd to be disinherited, on condition he refus'd the Match that was offer'd him by his Friends.

N O — let my Friends determine what they will,
I'm fixt, and keep my Resolution still,
Against the Threaten'd Marriage Bonds declare
With Them and all the World eternal War:
My Freedom I at its just Value rate,
And love my Quiet, more than my Estate:
Marriage of each is the destructive Bane,
No sooner match'd but we lament in vain
Their fatal Loss, which we must e'er sustain.
Of all its Days the first and last are best,
So vastly is it! so compleatly bless'd!
Oh! glorious State! replenish'd with Delight!
A Hundred Ills each Day, for one good Night!
In Marriage sure, if any Comfort be,
'Tis in the hope that we may once be free,
When kinder Death the Union has unty'd,
And taken to himself the gracious Bride.
Who ever cou'd the tiresom Load sustain,
But for the Hope once to be freed again?
For why shou'd Man, of a free gen'rous Mind,
Be to one Object all his Days confin'd?
Still ty'd to what He cannot Love so fast,
And find no Rest until he finds his last:
Ten thousand Tortures in his Soul arise,
And while in Spight she lives, each hour He dies.
For me I'm too much to my self a Friend,
To chuse those Evils which this State attend.
I hate a Bargain, when we go to woo
Why can't we all things as compleatly do,
Without the Curate and the Lawyer too?
When once the dire ill-omen'd yes we say,
The Joys of Love soon vanish all away,
The thing's quite spoil'd, because a Duty grown,
And pleases now no more because our own;
But what's forbidden fiercely we pursue,
And wond'rous Charms are in the thing call'd New.
Wou'd you at height maintain the pleasing Flame,
Then carefu'ly preserve a Lover's Name,
By Forms Love's brisk Affairs are ruin'd quite,
And the dull Name of Husband pall, Delight:
Beside, the tedious Yoak what need we bear.
When we may be as unconfin'd as Air?
Not forc'd to live in Discontent and Noise,
And all those Griefs that wait neglected Joys;
But uncontroul'd at Liberty to range,
Or when o'er-labour'd find our Ease in Change.
Oh! with what art th' industrious Lover tries
To hide his Failings from his Celia 's Eyes?
But when espous'd, 'tis then no longer so,
Each other than too soon, too well they know,
Then forth each hid Defect with Vigour springs,
All Cares to please accounted needless things,
Soon all the rare accomplish'd Glories fade,
Like a fine Flower in its Bloom decay'd!
He that was once so neat! so trim! so gay!
Like the delightful Month of smiling May ,
Wears a perpetual Cloud upon his Brow,
And looks as low'ring as December now:
You'd think He'd nought but Law-suits in his Head
And all his Grace and all his Wit is fled,
By Wedlock made a perfect useless Tool,
A droning Idiot, and a dreaming Fool!
And whoso does an equal Hazard run,
Can he expect that very Fate to shun?
Or justly think he's thus sufficient grown
To be her Master, who is not his own?
No! no! He'll find that all his Skill will fail,
Altho' he is the Head, to rule her Tail.
Of this so serious Bus'ness, if you doubt,
Illustrious Cordyon shall make it out:
We safely now may quote the glorious Peer,
And need no Scandalum Magnatum fear.
Cuckold of high Degree! — — and that he's so,
He's taken Pains that all the World shou'd know
Davis 's Fate's like his, and Collin 's too,
Whose Business, tho' more secret, is as true.
Shou'd I thro' all the Race of Cuckolds run,
To name them all, I never should have done;
Or tell since the first Planting of the Horn,
What vast Encrease each Age and Soil has born.
In Paradice the Serpent, some believe,
With something else than Apples tempted Eve ;
The thing is well suppos'd the Creature's wise,
And knows the Worth of Opportunities!
But say that this Suspicion is unjust,
Yet why shou'd Man to Woman's Frailty trust?
No! as a Wiseman ought, I'll be secure,
And keep me from the Danger that I may be sure.