pope.

Pope.

(Alexander Pope, geboren 1688, gestorben 1724, der fich unter den englischen Dichtern in mehrern Gattungen eis nen so ausgezeichneten und gegründeten Ruhm erwarb, vers suchte die Umarbeitung zweier Erzählungen von Chaucer, der hier abgedruckken, und der Wife of Bath. Wer sie mit ihren Originalen zusammenhält, wird freilich mehr Eleganz und Ründung in Pope's Einkleidung dieser komischen Erzählungen, aber immer noch mehr Naivetät und Schicklichkeit des Tons zum Inhalt in Chaucer's Vortrage finden. Sehr richtig bemerkt Herr Joseph Warton, in seinem treffs lichen und ungemein lehrreichen Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, Vol. II. p. V. daß die Schuld davon vielleicht in der Wahl des in heroischen Gedichten der Engländer ges wöhnlichen, und an sich mehr feierlichen fünffüßigen jambis schen Sylbenmaaßes, statt der von Chaucer oder la Fontås ne gewählten Versart ihrer komischen Erzählungen liege. Ues brigens bleiben in Pope's Arbeit noch Schönheiten genug übrig, um, nach dem Horazischen: Vbi plura nitent etc. die hie und da vorkommenden sittlichen, oder vielmehr unfittli chen, Freiheiten minder anftdßig zu machen.)

JANUARY AND MAY:

OR,

THE MERCHANT'S TALE.

FROM CHAUCER.

There liv'd in Lombardy, as authors write,
In days of old, a wife and worthy Knight,
Of gentle manners, and of gen'rous race,

Blefs'd with much fenfe, more riches, and fome'

grace;

Yet led aftray by Venus' foft delights,

He scarce could rule fome idle appetites,
For long ago, let priests fay what they could,
Weak, finful laymen were but flesh and blood.

But

But in due time, when fixty years were o'er,
He vow'd to lead this vicious life no more;
Whether pure holiness infpir'd his mind,
Or dotage turn'd his brain, is hard to find.
But his high courage prick'd him forth to wed,
And try the pleasures of a lawful bed.

This was his nightly dream, his daily care,
And to the heav'nly pow'rs his conftant pray'r,
Once, ere he dy'd, to taste the blissful life,
Of a kind husband and a loving wife.

These thoughts he fortify'd with reafons ftill,
(For none want reafons to confirm their will.)
Grave authors fay, and witty poets fing,
That honeft wedlock is a glorious thing;
But depth of judgment moft in him appears,
Who wifely weds in his maturer years;
Then let him chufe a damfel young and fair,
To blefs his age, and bring a worthy heir;
To footh his cares, and, free from noise and ftrife,
Conduct him gently to the verge of life.
Let finful batchelors their woe deplore,
Full well they merit all they feel, and more:
Unaw'd by precepts human or divine,
Like birds and beafts promifcously they join,
Nor know to make the prefent bleffing laft,
To hope the future, or efteem the paft;
But vainly boast the joys they never try'd,
And find divulg'd the fecrets they would hide.
The marry'd man may bear his yoke with eafe,
Secure, at once himself and Heav'n to please,
And pafs his unoffenfive hours away

In blifs all night, and innocence all day;
Tho' fortune change, his conftant spouse remains,
Augments his joys, or mitigates his pains.

But what fo pure, which envious tongues will
fpare?

Some wicked wits have libelled all the fair;
With matchless impudence they ftile a wife

Pope.

pope.

The dear-bought curfe and lawful plague of life;
A bofom ferpent, a domestic evil,

A night-invafion, and a mid-day devil.

Let not the wife these fland'rous words regard,
But curfe the bones of ev'ry lying bard.
All other goods by Fortune's hand are giv'n;
A wife is the peculiar gift of Heav'n.
Vain Fortune's favours, never at a stay,
Like empty fhadows pafs and glide away;
One folid comfort, our eternal wife,
Abundantly fupplies to all our life:

This bleffing lafts (if those who try say true,)
As long as heart can wifh - and longer too.

Our grandfire Adam, ere of Eve poffefs'd,
Alone, and ev'n in Paradife unblefs'd

With mournful looks the blissful scene survey'd,
And wander'd in the folitary fhade:
The Maker faw, took pity, and bestow'd
Woman, the laft, the beft, referv'd of God.

A wife! ah, gentle Deities! can he

That has a wife, e'er feel adverfity?
Would men but follow what the fex advife,
All things would profper, all the world grow wife.

'Twas by Rebecca's aid that Iacob won

His father's bleffing from an elder fon:
Abufive Nabal ow'd his forfeit lite
To the wife conduct of a prudent wife;
Heroic Judith, as old Hebrews fhow,

Preferv'd the Jews, and flew th' Affyrian foe:
At Hefter's fuit the perfecuting fword

Was fheath'd, and Ifrael liv'd to bless the Lord.

Thefe weighty motives January the fage
Maturely ponder'd in his riper age;
And, charm'd with virtuous joys and fober life,
Would try that Chriftian comfort, call'd à Wife,
His friends were fummon'd on a point fo nice,
To pass their judgment, and to give advice;

But

But fix'd before, and well refolv'd was he,
As men that ask advice are wont to be.

"My friends," he cry'd, and caft a mournful
look

Around the room, and figh'd before he spoke;
Beneath the weight of threefcore years I bend,
And, worn with cares, am haft'ning to my end;
How I have liv'd, alas! you know too well,
In worldly follies, which I blush to tell;
But gracious Heav'n has ope'd my eyes at laft
With due regret I view my vices past,
And as the precept of the church decrees,
Will take a wife, and live in holy ease:
But fince by counsel all things should be done,
And many
heads are wifer ftill than one,

Chufe you for me, who beft shall be content
When my defire's approv'd by your confent.

One caution yet is needful to be told
To guide your choice; this wife must not be old:
There goes a faying, and 'twas fhrewdly faid,,
Old fish at table, but young flesh in bed.
My foul abhors the taftelefs, dry embrace
Of a ftale virgin with a winter face:
In that cold feason Love but treats his guest
With bean-ftraw and tough forage at the best.
No crafty widows fhall approach my bed;
Thofe are too wife for batchelors to wed.
As fubtle clerks by many fhools are made,
Twice marry'd dames are mistreffes o' th' trade;
But young and tender virgins, rul'd with eafe,
We form like wax, and mould them as we pleafe.

Conceive me, Sirs, nor take my fenfe amifs;

>Tis what concerns my foul's eternal blifs;
Since if I found no pleasure in my spouse,
As flesh is frail, and who (God help me!) knows?
Then fhould I live in lewd adultery,,

And fink downright to Satan when I die;

Pope.

Pope. Or were I cursed with an unfruitful bed,

د.

The righteous end were loft for which I wed;
To raife up feed to blefs the Pow'rs above,
And not for pleasure only, or for love,
Think not I dote; 'tis time to take a wife,
When vig'rous blood forbids a chafter life:
Thofe that are blefs'd with store of grace divine,
May live like faints by Heav'n's consent and mine.

And fince I speak of wedlock, let me fay,
(As, thanks my stars, in modeft truth I may,)
My limbs are active, ftill I'm found at heart,
And a new vigour fprings in ev'ry part.

Think not my virtue loft, tho' Time has shed
Thele rev'rend honours on my hoary head;
Thus trees are crown'd with bloffoms white as
fnow,

The vital fap then rifing from below.
Old as I am, my lufty limbs appear

Like winter greens that flourish all the year.
Now, Sirs, you know to what I ftand inclin❜d,
Let ev'ry friend with freedom speak his mind."

He faid; the reft in diff'rent parts divide;
The knotty point was urg'd on either fide:
Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd,
Some prais'd with wit, and fome with reason
blam'd;

Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies,

Each wondrous pofitive and wondrous wife,
There fell between his brothers a debate,
Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that.

First to the knight Placebo thus begun:
(Mild were his looks, and pleafing was his tone;)
Such prudence, Sir, in all your words appears,
As plainly proves, experience dwells with years!
Yet you purfue fage Solomon's advice,

To work by counfel, when affairs are nice;

But