Classic Poem

Well! my lov'd Niece, I hear the bustle's o'er,
The wedding cake and visits are no more;
The gay ones buzzing round some other bride,
" While you with grave ones grace the fire's side.
Now with your usual sweetness deign to hear,
What from a heart most friendly flows sincere:
Nor do I fear a supercilious Smile —
To pay with gay contempt the muse's toil.
For be assur'd, I never will presume,
Superior sense or judgment to assume;
But barely that which long experience brings,
To men and women, those capricious things,
Nor do I once forget how very sage
Th'advice of Aunts has been in ev'ry age:
On matrimonial themes they all debate —
Wiseacres too who never try'd the state.
And 'twould, I own, appear as truly vain
For me, but to suppose I could attain
New light, upon a subject worn out quite;
And which both Aunts and Authors deem so trite.
But all the nuptial virtues in the class
Of spirit meek, and prudence, I shall pass;
Good nature — sense — of these you've ample store,
And Oeconomicks you have learnt before.
But there are lurking evils that do prove
Under the name of trifles — death to love. —
And from these trifles, all the jarring springs,
And trust me, child, they're formidable things.
First then — with rev'rence treat in ev'ry place,
The chosen patron of your future days;
For when you shew him but the least neglect,
Yourself you rifle of your due respect. —
But never let your fondness for him rise,
In words or actions to the prying eyes
Of witnesses — who claim a right to sneer
At all the honey'd words, " My life, — my love, — my dear. "
Nor from your husband should you e'er require
Those epithets, which little minds admire —
Such short restraints will constantly maintain
That pow'r which fondness strives to reach in vain.
And give new joy to the returning hour,
When sweet retirement bars the op'ning door.
Nor do nor say, before the man you love, —
What in its nature must offensive prove;
However closely drawn the mystic ties,
Yet men have always microscopic eyes;
And easily advert to former time,
When nice reserve made females all divine.
" Would she to Damon or Alexis say,
" A thing so rude? and am I less than they? "
Whene'er your husband means to stay at home,
Whate'er th'occasion — dont consent to roam;
For home's a solitary place to one
Who loves his wife, and finds her always gone.
At least consult the temper of his mind,
If vex'd abroad, he finds himself inclin'd
From public business to relax awhile;
How pleasing then the solace of a smile —
A soft companion to relieve his care,
His joy to heighten — or his grief to share?
Unbend his thoughts and from the world retire,
Within his sacred home and round his chearful fire;
Nor let him know you've made a sacrifice,
He'll find it out himself: And then he'll prize
Your kind endeavours to promote his ease,
And make the study of your life to please.
Another rule you'll find of equal weight,
When jars subside, never recriminate;
And when the cloud is breaking from his brow,
Repeat not what he said — nor when nor how .
If he's tenacious, gently give him way —
And tho' 'tis night, if he should say, 'tis day —
Dispute it not — but pass it with a smile;
He'll recollect himself — and pay your toil —
And shew he views it in a proper light;
And no Confusion seek — to do you right:
Just in his humour meet him — no debate,
And let it be your pleasure to forget.
His friends with kindness always entertain,
And tho' by chance he brings them, ne'er complain;
Whate'er's provided for himself and you,
With neatness serv'd, will surely please them too.
Nor e'er restrict him, when he would invite
His friends in form, to spend a day or night:
Some ladies think the trouble is so great,
That all such motions cause a high debate;
And madam pouts and says, I would not mind
How much to company you were inclin'd,
If I had things to entertain genteel;
And could but make my table look as well
As Mrs. A. and Mrs. B. can do;
I'd be as fond of company as you. —
And oft a richer service bribes the feast,
Than suits his purse, and makes himself a jest:
And tho' the good man gains his point at last,
It damps convivial mirth, and poisons the repast.
But you, my dear — if you would wish to shine,
Must always say, your friends are also mine :
The house is your's, and I will do the best,
To give a chearful welcome to each guest.
Nor are those maxims difficult to cope
When stimulated by so fair a hope,
To reach the summit of domestic bliss;
And crown each day with ever smiling peace.
Now if these lines one caution should contain,
To gain that end, my labour's not in vain;
And be assur'd, my dear, while life endures
With every tender sentiment, I'm your's.