Classic Poem

In a post-coach and four, with postillions as fine
As e'er drove a Countess, that day I did shine.
In the morn did Aurora her influence display,
And Cynthia at night seemed to vie with the day.
Good Barnes and his consort, gay Caelia beside,
And my husband's step-mother attended the bride;
And know the groom's man was a person of fame,
A youth of large fortune—and Patten his name.

At Shotwig I chose to be married, my dear
(A small country church, and to Saughall quite near);
For myself I had flattered, in that rural scene
No other spectators around me would reign,
Excepting fair Flora, and the feathered train.
But trust me, when we to the village drew near,
The nymphs and the swains all in ranks did appear,
To see us fine folks; for sure, fine we must be,
When powdered, and dressed, à la mode de Paris!
In pink, blue and white, to the skies trimmed, you know,
With our white gloves and ribbons we made a great show;
And well might the lads and the lasses all stare,
For such belles and such beaux are at Shotwig most rare.
Had you seen but my niece, when for bridesmaid she stood,
You'd have thought she was Venus, just sprung from the flood.

The knot being tied, with the Vicar we went,
And an hour or two we most agreeably spent,
In regaling our palates with plum-cake and wine;
Then drove to Parkgate, where at four we did dine
On fish, lamb, and ducks, puddings, tarts, whips, my dear,
Drinking red wine and white, jaded spirits to cheer.
At seven we ordered in coffee and tea;
We sipped; paid our bill; and drove rapid away
To the Two Mills, my friend, where again we did call
Ourselves to refresh, men and horses and all.

At tea we returned to our house, with due pride,
In a post-coach and four, and a post-chaise beside;
And, had but Maria joined this bridal train,
My transports to paint all attempts would be vain.
Yet I hope, when convenient, to see me you'll come;
For good wives, you well know, must go seldom from home.
Methinks, I by this hear you cry, with a sneer,
‘Lord bless me! what wonders one may live to hear!
That thus my gay sister should suddenly change!’
Get married, Maria—you'll not think it strange;
The old maxim you'll find to hold good, I am sure,
That ‘Home still is home, be it ever so poor’;
But, if it's a good one, what can we wish more?