Classic Poem

" A MAN who trusts his secrets to his wife
Makes her his mistress. None of women born,
Unless he's drunk or crazy, will reveal
To women anything that should be hid,
Unless he wants to hear it coming back
To him from others. Better 'twere to flee
From out the land than tell his wife to keep
A secret, though she meek and loyal be.
Nor will he any secret act perform
In presence of a woman, for she'll tell
About it soon or late, though it involve
For him a mortal peril. Though none ask
Her secret, she will tell it just the same
Without an invitation; naught will keep
Her silent. She will think she might as well
Be dead as that the secret should remain
Unspoken, though great peril or reproach
Should come of it. And if it's such a thing,
The man who's told it ne'er will dare to raise
His hand to punish her with slaps or blows
A single time — much less three times or four.
No sooner will he touch her than she'll throw
It in his face, then tell it to the world.
The man who trusts a woman loses her.
" Do you know what the miserable man
Who places confidence in woman does?
He puts a halter round his neck; he binds
His hands behind him. For, if only once
He ever dares to make complaint to her
Or scold or punish her for what she's done,
He puts his life in peril. If the crime
That he's revealed to her is capital —
Punishable with hanging by the neck —
The judge may seize him then with her consent,
Or clansmen may avenge their friend on him,
To such an evil pass he will have come.
And yet the fool must go to bed with her
And lie all night beside her on their couch
Where he dares not to sleep, e'en if he could,
Because he's done, or mayhap planned to do
Some murder or some other crime for which
He fears to die if it should be revealed.
Then, when he turns and twists and groans and sighs,
His wife, who well perceives he's ill at ease,
Draws him to her with kiss, caress, and hug,
And lays her hand upon his breast and says:

" " What's wrong? What makes you shiver so and sigh
And wallow? We're alone in secret here,
Just you and I — we two — of all the world
The persons who should love each other most
With true and unembittered, loyal hearts.
I locked the chamber door with my own hand,
As I remember well; and I am glad
To say our walls are forty inches thick;
The rafters are so high that we should be
Secure beneath them; no one can espy
Our secrets, for the room is unexposed
And from the windows we are far away,
Which no man living could unlock and ope
More than the wind, unless he shattered them.
In brief, there's not a crevice in the room
Where any eavesdropper could prick his ear.
No one can hear your voice excepting me;
Therefore it is I tenderly implore,
By all our love, that you confide in me
Enough to tell me what is ailing you."
" " My dear," he says, " as I am in God's sight,
I would not tell it you for anything;
It's not a thing that should be talked about."
" " Alas! My dear, sweet husband," she replies,
" Are you suspicious, then, of even me
Who am your loyal spouse? When we were wed,
Lord Jesus Christ, whom we have never found
Ungenerous in grace, made of us two
One body; now if we are but one flesh
By right of common law there should not be
Within one body but a single heart
Upon the left. Our hearts are therefore one.
I have yours and you have mine. There's naught
That yours should know that is not known to mine.
Therefore I pray that you, in recompense
And as my due desert, confide in me;
For never shall I have a happy soul
Till I know all. And if you will not speak
I'll know that you impugn my honesty;
I'll know what love you bear me when you say
That I'm your sweet companion, sister, friend!
Who do you think it is for whom you pare
Such chestnuts? Certainly, if you don't tell
'Twill surely seem that you're betraying me,
Who, since the day when we were first betrothed,
Have so confided in you that I've told
You everything that's come into my head.
For you I've left my mother and my sire,
My uncles, nephews, sisters, brothers, friends,
And all my family, as you well know
Most certainly I've made an ill exchange
If now so hostile I find you to me
While I adore you best of living things
Although you value me less than a leek,
When you conceive that I so ill could act
Toward you as any secret to reveal.
I never would, by Christ, the King of Heaven!
Who should protect you more than I myself?
At least consider me, and if you find
Good reason to misdoubt my loyalty,
You have my body in your power. What gage
Could be a better guarantee than that?
Would you have better hostage? Then I'm worse
Than other women; for I see my friends
Their households' mistresses. Their husbands tell
Them all their secrets; for they confidence
Have in their wives, with whom they counsel take,
When sleepless they together lie in bed,
And privately each one confession makes
Unto the other, so that naught remains
That should be told. This they, to tell the truth,
More often do than go to see the priest.
I have their words for it, for many a time
Complete avowal they have made to me
Of all they've seen or heard or even thought,
So do they purge and so relieve themselves.
But they are not like me, nor I like them —
Not garrulous or quarrelsome or light;
I'm chaste of body, howsoever vile
My soul may seem to God on judgment day.
You never hear that with adultery
I have been charged, unless mischievously
Some fool tells untrue tales of me to you.
You've proved me well; and have you found me false?
Fair sir, be careful how you keep your faith
With me! You must have evilly forsworn
Yourself when first you pledged to me your vows
And on my finger placed your wedding ring.
I don't know how you dared to do it then.
Who made you marry me whom now you fear
To trust? Now let me know what deed you hide;
I pray you, keep your faith at least this once.
I truly promise, pledge my faith, and swear
By holy Peter, what you tell to me
I'll keep as close as if 'twere in the tomb.
Now certainly I'd be most indiscreet.
If from my mouth a word should issue forth
By which you might be injured or disgraced.
'Twould shame my lineage, and most of all
Myself; and never in my life have I
Disgraced my family. 'Tis true, they say,
" Who cuts his nose off just to spite his face
Is but a fool. " Now, by your faith in God,
Tell me, what is it disconcerts your heart;
Or, if you don't, you will have caused my death."
" She pulls the clothes from off his head and breast
And kisses him repeatedly and weeps
Upon him many tears, with ardor feigned.
" The wretched man then all his shame recounts
And tells his deed and thereby hangs himself;
Though when the words are spoken he repents
But, once a word has taken wing, it ne'er
Can be recalled. Forthwith he prays his wife
(And he's more ill at ease than he had been
When she knew naught) that she will hold her tongue,
And she repeats her promise to keep still
Whatever hap. What does the fool expect?
He couldn't keep his secret; does he think
That he can make his wife more secretive?
Does he know what the end of this will be?
He sees that she has now the upper hand,
And knows that ne'er again he'll dare complain
Or scold her for whatever thing she does.
Now that she has the wherewithal, she'll keep
Him cowed and mute. Her promise she may hold
Until some quarrel rise between the two;
She may restrain herself to that extent,
But scarcely to such point that she'll not have
His heart in balance, therefore causing grief.
" Whoever feels affection for mankind
Should preach to them this sermon, which is good
For all occasions, to the end that they,
Thus warned, so great a peril may escape.
It may displeasing be to nagging wives,
But verity will not in corners hide.
" Fair sirs, beware of women, if you love
Your bodies and your souls; at least don't be
So bungling in your conduct as to tell
Them secrets you should keep locked in your breasts.
Beware! Beware! Beware! Beware! Beware!
Good fellows, flee, I charge and counsel you,
Without deceit or guile, from such a beast!
Note Vergil's words, and plant them in your hearts
So that they never can be rooted out:
" O children, who pluck strawberries and flowers
So clean and fresh, flee from the serpent cold
That's lying in the grass." She'll surely sting
And poison and envenom everyone
Who comes too close; and so, young folk who go
Seeking the flowers and berries of this world,
Beware the evil serpent, the cold snake
Who so maliciously is lurking here,
Who hides her venom, keeping it concealed,
Secreting it beneath the tender grass
Until such time as she can pour it forth
To injure and deceive. Consider well
How to escape and never to be caught,
If you would be safeguarded from sure death.
The beast's so venomous in head and tail
And body that if you approach her close
You'll find yourselves empoisoned, for she stings
And kills most traitorously; and when once stung
A man can find no soothing antidote.
No treacle can cure that venom's burns:
No herb or root is of the least avail.
The only remedy is found in flight.
" It is not my intention, ne'ertheless,
To say that you should not hold women dear
Or lie with them — you should not flee so far.
Rather it's my command that you them prize
And reasonably advance their every cause,
Provide them clothes and shoes, both of the best,
And ever strive to serve and honor them
In order to maintain the human race,
That Death may ne'er succeed to root it out;
But never should you trust in them so much
That you'll reveal to them what should be hid.
If they've ability for such-like cares,
Let them maintain the household and the home,
And come and go; or if it chance that they
Know how efficiently to buy and sell,
To such affairs they rightly may attend;
Or if they're mistresses of any craft
Let them pursue it if they feel the urge;
And let them know such things as all may know —
Such things as have no need to be concealed.
But if you e'er entrust too much to them,
Or give them too much power, you'll late repent
When finally their malice you shall feel.
We're warned by Scripture that if sovereignty
A woman have, she will oppose her spouse
In whatsoever thing he says or does;
Therefore beware that your house does not fall
Into such evil way, for e'en at best
Man loses much. A wise man guards his own.
" You men who have your sweethearts, show yourselves
Good fellows; each provide sufficiently
With common duties. But if you are wise
And prudent, when you hold them in your arms
And hug and kiss them, you will silent keep.
Be still! Be still! Be still! Be still! Be still!
Think well, and hold your tongue; no good can come
From making them your coparticipants
In secrets. They are all too proud and vain.
Too venomous and biting are their tongues.
In such a situation many a fool,
Held tight within his sweetheart's arms, and kissed
And fondled, in the midst of amorous game
That pleases them so much, can naught conceal.
Then are his secrets all revealed, and then
The husband bares his heart. From such an act
Much grief and trouble come. All but the wise,
Who think before they speak, reveal their thoughts.
" Delilah, the malicious wedded wife
Of Samson, who was valorous and strong,
A crafty warrior, by her flattery,
Which was so venomous, the while she held
Him sleeping in her lap complaisantly,
With shears cut off his hair, with which he lost
His strength. He was too great a fool to know
That he should keep his secret, so he told
His wife that with his locks he'd lose his power,
Revealing all his inmost privity.
" No more examples need I cite for you;
You well may make the one suffice for all.
But, since I love you, I'll to you commend
A proverb written down by Solomon:
" To free yourself from peril and reproach,
Guard and keep locked the portals of your lips
Against the wife who sleeps upon your breast."
All who hold mankind dear should preach this lore,
That they may guard themselves from womankind
And never give them any confidence.
'Tis not for you that I this sermon preach,
Dame Nature, for you're always stanch and true.
Scripture affirms that God so boundlessly
Has dowered you that you are now omniscient. "