But with the Wife Man's leave, I must proteft,
So may my foul arrive at ease and reft,
As ftill I hold your own advice the beft.

Sir, I have liv'd a courtier all my days,
And study'd men, their manners and their ways;
And have obferv'd this useful maxim still,

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To let my betters always have their will.
Nay, if my Lord affirm'd that black was white,
My word was this, "Your Honour's in the right."
Th' affuming wit, who deems himhelf fo wife
As his mistaken patron to advise,

Let him not dare to vent his dang'rous thought;
A noble fool was never in a fault.

This, Sir, affects not you, whofe ev'ry word
Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a Lord:
Your will is mine; and is (I will maintain,)
Pleafing to God, and should be so to man;
At least, your courage all the world must praise,
Who dare to wed in your declining days.
Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood,
And let gray fools be indolently good,
Who, paft all pleasure, damn the joy of fenfe
With rev'rend dulnefs and grave impotence."

Juftin, who filent fat, and heard the man,
Thus with a philofophic frown began:

,,A Heathen author of the first degree
(Who tho' not faith, had fenfe as well as we,)
Bids us be certain our concerns to truft
To those of gen'rous principles and just.
The venture's greater, I'll presume to say,
To give your person than your gods away;
And therefore, Sir, as you regard your reft,
First learn your lady's qualities at least:
Whether fhe's chafte or rampant, proud or civil,
Meek as a faint, or haughty as the devil;
Whether an easy, fond, familiar, fool,

Or fuch a wit as no man e'er can rule.

Pope.

Pope.

'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find
In all this world, much less in womankind;
But if her virtues prove the larger share,
Bless the kind Fates, and think your fortune rare.
Ah! gentle Sir, take warning of a friend,
Who knows too well the ftate you thus commend;
And, fpite of all his praises, muft declare
All he can find, is bondage, coft, and care.
Heav'n knows, I fhed full many a private tear,
And figh in filence, left the world should hear,
While all my friends applaud my blissful life,
And fwear, no mortal 's happier in a wife,
Demure and chafte as any Vestal nun,

The meekeft creature that beholds the fun!
But, by th' immortal Pow'rs! I feel the pain,
And he that smarts has reafon to complain..
Do what you lift for me; you must be fage
And cautious, fure; for wisdom is in age:
But at thefe years to venture on the fair!
By him, who made the ocean, earth, and air,
To please a wife, when her occafions call,
Would bufy the most vig'rous of us all.
And, truft me, Sir, the chafteft you can chufe,
Will ask obfervance, and exact her dues.
If what I fpeak my noble Lord offend,
My tedious fermon here is at an end."

'Tis well, 'tis wondrous well," the Knight
replies,

Moft worthy kinsman, faith you're mighty wife!
We, Sirs, are fools, and must refign the caufe
To Heath'nifh authors, proverbs, and old faws."
He spoke with fcorn, and turn'd another way -
What does my friend, my dear Placebo, say?

"I fay," quoth he, „by Heav'n! the man's to
blame,

To flander wives, and wedlock's holy name.'

At this the council rofe without delay!
Each in his own opinion went his way;

1

With full confent, that, all disputes appeaf'd,
The Knight fhould marry when and where he
pleaf'd.

Who now but January exults with joy?
The charms of wedlock all his foul employ;
Each nymph by turns his wav'ring mind poffeft,
And reign'd the fhort-liv'd tyrant of his breaft;
While Fancy pictur'd ev'ry lively part,

And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart.
Thus, in fome public forum fix'd on high,
A mirror fhows the figures moving by;
Still one by one, in fwift fucceffion, pafs
The gliding fhadows o'er the polifh'd glass.
This lady's charms the niceft could not blame,
But vile fufpicions had afperf'd her fame;

That was with fenfe, but not with virtue,
bleft;

And one had grace that wanted all the reft.

Thus doubting long what nymph he fhould obey,
He fix'd at laft upon the youthful May:

Her faults he knew not, Love is always blind,
But ev'ry charm revolv'd within his mind:
Her tender age, her form divinely fair,
Her easy motion, her attractive air,
Her fweet behaviour, her enchanting face,
Her moving softness, and majestic grace.

Much in his prudence did our Knight rejoice,
And thought, no mortal could difpute his choice.
Once more in hafte he fummon'd ev'ry friend,
And told them, all their pains were at an end.
Heav'n that (faid he) infpir'd me first to wed,
Provides a confort worthy of my bed:
Let none oppose th' election, fince on this
Depends my quiet and my future bliss.

A dame there is, the darling of my eyes.
Young, beauteous, artlefs, innocent and wife,
Chafte, tho' not rich, and tho' not nobly born,

Pope.

Dope.

Of honeft parents, and may ferve my turn.
Her will I wed, if gracious Heav'n so please,
To pass my age in fanctity and ease;

And thank the Pow'rs, I may poffefs alone
The lovely prize, and fhare my blifs with none!
If you, my friends, this virgin can procure,
My joys are full, my happiness is sure.

One only doubt remains; full oft' I've heard,
By cafuifts grave, and deep divines averr'd,
That 'tis too much for human race to know
The blifs of heav'n above and earth below:
Now fhould the nuptial pleasures prove fo great
To match the bleffings of the future ftate,
Thofe endless joys were ill exchang'd for thefe;
Then clear this doubt, and fet my mind at eafe.

This Juftin heard, nor could his fpleen control,

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Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the foul.
"Sir Knight," he cry'd, if this be all jour dread,
Heav'n put it past your doubt whene'er you wed,
And to my fervent pray'rs fo far confent,
That ere the rites are o'er, you may repent!
Good Heav'n, no doubt, the nuptial ftate appro-

ves,

Since it chaftifes ftill what beft it loves.
Then be not, Sir, abandon'd to despair,
Seek, and perhaps you'll find among the fair
One that may do your buf'ness to a hair;
Not ev'n in wifh your happiness delay,

But prove the fcourge to lafh you on your way:
Then to the fkies your mounting foul fhall go,
Swift as an arrow foaring from the bow!
Provided ftill you moderate your joy,
Nor in your pleasures all your might employ;
Let Reafon's rule your ftrong defires abate,
Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate.
Old wives there are, of judgment moft acuté,
Who folve these questions beyond all dispute;

}

Con

Confult with thofe, and be of better cheer;
Marry, do penance, and difmifs your fear."

So faid, they rofe, nor more the work de
lay'd;

The match was offer'd, the proposals made.
The parents, you may think, would foon com.
ply;

The old have int'reft ever in their eye:
Nor was it hard to move the lady's mind;
When Fortune favours, ftill the Fair are kind.

I pass each previous fettlement and deed,
Too long for me to write, or you to read;
Nor will with quaint impertinence display
The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array.
The time approach'd; to church the parties went,
At once with carnal and devout intent:

Forth came the priest, and bade th' obedient wife
Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life;

Then pray'd the Pow'rs the fruitful bed to blifs,
And made all fure enough with holiness.

And now the palace-gates are open'd wide,
The guests appear in order, fide by fide,
And plac'd in ftate the bridegroom and the bride.
The breathing flute's foft notes are heard around,
And the fhrill trumpets mix their filver found;
The vaulted roofs with echoing mufic ring,
These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling
ftring.

Not thus Amphion touch'd the warbling lyre,
Nor Joab the founding clarion could infpire,
Nor fierce Theodamas, whofe fprightly strain
Could fwell the foul to rage, and fire the martial

train.

Bacchus himself, the nuptial feaft to grace,

(So poets fing,) was prefent on the place;

Pope.

And