Classic Poem

" LAUGH , maiden, laugh, if thou be wise," —
Aye, that methinks was Ovid's rede;
And yet not all doth he advise;
But if he spake to all indeed
The poet's saw thou can'st not plead
Who long are past thy maidenhood,
And hast, for teeth to serve thy need;
Three stumps the hue of pitch or wood.

So if thou trust thy glass and me,
Put thoughts of laughter out of mind;
The merry mood is not for thee,
Nor for the fops a blustering wind.
These shun the jostling of their kind,
The beldame with her powdered grace
Fears rain and is not glad to find
Bright sunshine on her painted face.

Wear looks austere, like Priam's Queen
Or such as Hector's consort wore,
And lest a smile should e'er be seen,
No plays or feasts for evermore!
All merriment must thou abhor
With aught that might provoke to it;
The depths of grief must thou explore,
Away with quips and roguish wit,

And rather haunt some house of woe
Where mourning widows sigh and moan,
If mother's tears or sister's flow
Take thou their sorrows for thine own;
Be thine the Tragic muse alone,
And thus a wiser maxim keep —
Herein is crafty counsel shown —
" If thou be wise, weep, lady, weep."