Nubere si quÀ voles, quamvis properabitis ambo,
Differ; habent parvÆ commoda magna morÆ.
Ovid. Fast. lib. 3.

Dispos’d to wed, ev’n while you hasten, stay;
There’s great Advantage in a small Delay:
Thus Ovid sang, and much the Wise approve
This prudent Maxim of the Priest of Love:
If Poor, Delay for future Want prepares
And eases humble Life of half its Cares;
If Rich, Delay shall brace the thoughtful Mind,
T’ endure the Ills that ev’n the happiest find:
Delay shall Knowledge yield on either part,
And shew the Value of the vanquish’d Heart:
The Humours, Passions, Merits, Failings prove,
And gently raise the Veil that’s worn by Love;
Love, that impatient Guide!—too proud to think
Of vulgar Wants, of Clothing, Meat and Drink,
Urges our amorous Swains their Joys to seize,
And then at Rags and Hunger, frighten’d flees:
Yet not too long in cold Debate remain,
Till Age, refrain not—but if Old, refrain.

By no such Rule, would Gaffer Kirk be tied;}
First in the Year he led a blooming Bride, }
And stood a wither’d Elder at her side. }
Oh! Nathan! Nathan! at thy years, trepann’d,
To take a wanton Harlot by the hand!
Thou, who wert us’d so tartly to express
Thy sense of Matrimonial Happiness,
Till every Youth, whose Banns at Church were read,
Strove not to meet, or meeting, hung his head;
And every Lass forbore at thee to look,
A sly old Fish, too cunning for the Hook;—
And now at Sixty, that pert Dame to see,
Of all thy Savings Mistress, and of Thee;
Now will the Lads, rememb’ring insults past,
Cry, “What, the Wise-one in the trap at last!”
Fie! Nathan, fie! to let an artful Jade,
The close recesses of thine Heart invade;
What grievous pangs! what suffering she’ll impart,
And fill with anguish that rebellious Heart;
For thou wilt strive incessantly, in vain,
By threat’ning Speech, thy Freedom to regain;
But she for Conquest married, nor will prove
A Dupe to Thee, thine Anger or thy Love;
Clamorous her Tongue will be;—of either Sex,
She’ll gather friends around thee and perplex
Thy doubtful Soul;—thy Money she will waste,
In costly Frippery cull’d with vulgar taste;
And will be happy to exert her power,
In every Eye, in thine, at every hour.
Then wilt thou bluster—“No! thou wilt not rest,
“And see consum’d each Shilling of thy Chest:”
Thou wilt be valiant,—“when her Cousins call,
“Thou wilt abuse and shut thy door on all:”
Thou wilt be cruel!—“what the Law allows,
“That be thy Portion, my ungrateful Spouse!
“Nor other Shillings shalt thou then receive, }
“And when I die”——“what! may I this believe? }
“Are these true tender tears? and does my Kitty grieve?}
“Ah! crafty vixen, thine Old Man has fears;
“But weep no more! I’m melted by thy tears;
“Spare but my Money, thou shall rule ME still,
“And see thy Cousins—— there! I burn the Will.”—
Thus with Example sad, our Year began,
A wanton Vixen and a weary Man;
“But had this Tale in other guise been told,”
Young let the Lover be, the Lady old,
And that Disparity of Years shall prove
No bane of Peace, although some bar to Love:
’Tis not the worst, our Nuptial Ties among,
That joins the Antient Bride and Bridegroom Young;—
Young Wives, like changing Winds, their power display,
By shifting Points and varying day by day;
Now Zephyrs mild, now Whirlwinds in their force,
They sometimes speed, but often thwart our Course:
And much experienc’d should that Pilot be,
Who sails with them on Life’s tempestuous Sea:
But like a Trade-Wind is the Antient Dame,
Mild to your wish and every day the same;
Steady as Time, no sudden Squalls you fear,
But set full-sail and with assurance steer;
Till every Danger in your way be past,
And then she gently, mildly breathes her last;
Rich you arrive, in Port awhile remain,
And for a second Venture sail again.

For this, blithe Donald southward made his way,
And left the Lasses on the Banks of Tay;
Him to a neighbouring Garden Fortune sent,
Whom we beheld, aspiringly content:
Patient and mild he sought the Dame to please,
Who rul’d the Kitchen and who bore the Keys;
Fair Lucy first, the Laundry’s Grace and Pride,
With smiles and gracious looks, her Fortune tried;
But all in vain she prais’d his “pawky Eyne,”
Where never fondness was for Lucy seen;
Him the mild Susan, boast of Dairies, lov’d,
And found him civil, cautious, and unmov’d;
From many a fragrant Simple, Catharine’s skill,
Drew Oil, and Essence from the boiling Still;
But not her Warmth, nor all her winning Ways,
From his cool phlegm could Donald’s spirit raise;
Of Beauty heedless, with the Merry mute,
To Mistress Dobson he preferr’d his suit;
There prov’d his Service, there address’d his Vows,
And saw her Mistress,—Friend,—Protectress,—Spouse:
A Butler now, he thanks his powerful Bride,
And like her Keys keeps constant at her side.

Next at our Altar stood a luckless Pair,
Brought by strong Passions and a Warrant there;
By long rent cloak, hung loosely, strove the Bride,
From ev’ry eye, what all perceiv’d, to hide.
While the Boy-Bridegroom, shuffling in his pace,
Now hid awhile and then expos’d his Face;
As Shame alternately with Anger strove,
The Brain, confus’d with muddy Ale, to move;
In haste and stammering he perform’d his part,
And look’d the Rage that rankled in his heart;
(So will each Lover inly curse his fate,
Too soon made happy and made wise too late;)
I saw his Features take a savage gloom,
And deeply threaten for the days to come;
Low spake the Lass, and lisp’d and minc’d the while,
Look’d on the Lad and faintly try’d to smile;
With soft’ned speech and humbled tone she strove,
To stir the embers of departed Love;
While he a Tyrant, frowning walk’d before,
Felt the poor Purse and sought the Public-door,
She sadly following in submission went,
And saw the final Shilling foully spent;
Then to her Father’s hut the Pair withdrew,
And bade to Love and Comfort long adieu!
Ah! fly temptation, Youth, refrain! refrain!
I preach for ever; but I preach in vain!

Two summers since, I saw at Lammas Fair,
The sweetest Flower that ever blossom’d there;
When Phoebe Dawson gaily cross’d the Green,
In haste to see and happy to be seen;
Her Air, her Manners, all who saw, admir’d;
Courteous though coy and gentle though retir’d;
The Joy of Youth and Health her Eyes display’d,
And Ease of Heart her every Look convey’d;
A native Skill her simple Robes express’d,
As with untutor’d elegance she dress’d;
The Lads around admir’d so fair a sight,
And Phoebe felt, and felt she gave, Delight.
Admirers soon of every Age she gain’d,
Her Beauty won them and her Worth retain’d;
Envy itself could no Contempt display,
They wish’d her well, whom yet they wish’d away;
Correct in thought, she judg’d a Servant’s Place
Preserv’d a Rustic Beauty from disgrace;
But yet on Sunday-eve in Freedom’s hour,
With secret joy she felt that Beauty’s power;
When some proud bliss upon the Heart would steal,
That, poor or rich, a Beauty still must feel.—
At length, the Youth, ordain’d to move her breast,
Before the Swains with bolder spirit press’d;
With looks less timid made his Passion known,
And pleas’d by Manners, most unlike her own;
Loud though in Love and confident though young;
Fierce in his air and voluble of tongue;
By trade a Tailor, though, in scorn of trade,
He serv’d the Squire, and brush’d the Coat he made;
Yet now, would Phoebe her Consent afford,
Her slave alone, again he’d mount the Board;
With her should years of growing Love be spent,
And growing Wealth:—She sigh’d and look’d consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and cross the Green,
(Seen by but few and blushing to be seen—
Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,)
Led by the Lover, walk’d the silent Maid:
Slow through the meadows rov’d they, many a mile,
Toy’d by each bank and trifled at each stile;
Where, as he painted every blissful view,
And highly colour’d what he strongly drew,
The pensive Damsel, prone to tender fears,
Dimm’d the false prospect with prophetic tears:
Thus pass’d th’ allotted Hours, till lingering late,
The Lover loiter’d at the Master’s gate;
There he pronounc’d adieu! and yet would stay,
Till chidden—sooth’d—intreated—forc’d away;
He would of coldness, though indulg’d, complain,
And oft retire and oft return again;
When, if his teasing vex’d her gentle mind,
The Grief assum’d, compell’d her to be kind!
For he would proof of plighted Kindness crave,
That she resented first and then forgave,
And to his Grief and Penance yielded more,
Than his Presumption had requir’d before:—
Ah! fly temptation, Youth, refrain! refrain,
Each yielding Maid and each presuming Swain!

Lo! now with red rent Cloak and Bonnet black,
And torn green Gown loose hanging at her back,
One who an Infant in her arm sustains,
And seems in patience, striving with her pains;
Pinch’d are her Looks, as one who pines for Bread,
Whose Cares are growing and whose Hopes are fled;
Pale her parch’d Lips, her heavy Eyes sunk low,
And Tears unnotic’d from their Channels flow;
Serene her manner, till some sudden Pain,
Frets the meek soul and then she’s calm again—
Her broken Pitcher to the Pool she takes,
And every step with cautious terror makes;
For not alone that Infant in her arms,
But nearer Cause, her anxious Soul alarms;
With Water burthen’d, then she picks her way,
Slowly and cautious, in the clinging clay;
Till, in Mid-Green, she trusts a place unsound,
And deeply plunges in th’ adhesive ground;
Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes,
While Hope the Mind as Strength the Frame forsakes:
For when so full the Cup of Sorrow grows,
Add but a drop, it instantly o’erflows.—
And now her Path but not her Peace she gains,
Safe from her Task, but shivering with her pains;
Her Home she reaches, open leaves the door,
And placing first her Infant on the floor,
She bares her Bosom to the Wind and sits,
And sobbing struggles with the rising Fits;
In vain, they come, she feels th’ inflating grief,
That shuts the swelling Bosom from relief;
That speaks in feeble cries a Soul distrest,
Or the sad laugh that cannot be represt;
The Neighbour-Matron leaves her Wheel and flies
With all the aid her Poverty supplies;
Unfee’d, the Calls of Nature she obeys,
Not led by profit, not allur’d by praise;
And waiting long, till these Contentions cease,
She speaks of Comfort and departs in peace.
Friend of Distress! the Mourner feels thy Aid,
She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.

But who this Child of Weakness, Want, and Care?
’Tis Phoebe Dawson, Pride of Lammas-Fair;
Who took her Lover for his sparkling Eyes,
Expressions warm, and love-inspiring Lies:
Compassion first assail’d her gentle Heart,
For all his suffering, all his bosom’s smart:
“And then his Prayers! they would a Savage move,
“And win the coldest of the Sex to Love:”—
But ah! too soon his Looks Success declar’d,
Too late her Loss the Marriage-rite repair’d;
The faithless Flatterer then his Vows forgot,
A captious Tyrant or a noisy Sot:
If present, railing, till he saw her pain’d;
If absent, spending what their Labours gain’d;
Till that fair Form in want and sickness pin’d,
And Hope and Comfort fled that gentle Mind.
Then fly temptation, Youth; resist, refrain!
Nor let me preach for ever and in vain!

Next came a well-drest Pair, who left their Coach,
And made, in long procession, slow approach:
For, this gay Bride had many a Female Friend,
And Youths were there, this favour’d Youth t’ attend:
Silent, nor wanting due respect, the Crowd
Stood humbly round and Gratulation bow’d;
But not that silent Crowd, in wonder fixt,
Not numerous Friends, who praise and envy mix’d,
Nor Nymphs attending near to swell the pride
Of one more fair, the ever-smiling Bride;
Nor that gay Bride adorn’d with every Grace, }
Nor Love nor Joy triumphant in her Face, }
Could from the Youth’s, sad signs of Sorrow chase:}
Why didst thou grieve? Wealth, Pleasure, Freedom thine;
Vex’d it thy soul, that Freedom to resign?
Spake Scandle truth? “Thou didst not then intend,
So soon to bring thy wooing to an end?”
Or was it, as our prating Rustics say,
To end as soon, but in a different way?
’Tis told thy Phyllis is a skilful Dame,
Who play’d uninjur’d with the dangerous Flame:
That while like Lovelace thou thy Coat display’d
And hid the Snare, prepar’d to catch the Maid,
Thee with her Net, she found the means to catch,
And at the amorous See-saw, won the Match[8];
Yet others tell, the Captain fix’d thy doubt,
He’d call thee Brother, or he’d call thee out:—
But rest the Motive—all Retreat too late,
Joy like thy Bride’s should on thy brow have sate;
The deed had then appear’d thine own intent,}
A glorious day, by gracious fortune sent, }
In each revolving Year to be in triumph spent.}
Then in few weeks that cloudy Brow had been,
Without a wonder or a whisper seen;
And none had been so weak as to enquire,
“Why pouts my Lady?” or “why frowns the Squire?”

How fair these Names, how much unlike they look
To all the blurr’d Subscriptions in my Book;
The Bridegroom’s Letters stand in row above,
Tapering yet stout, like Pine-trees in his Grove;
While free and fine the Bride’s appear below,
As light and slender as her Jasmines grow;
Mark now in what confusion, stoop or stand,
The crooked Scrawls of many a clownish Hand,
Now out, now in, they droop, they fall, they rise,
Like raw Recruits drawn forth for Exercise;
Ere yet reform’d and modell’d by the Drill,
The free-born Legs stand striding as they will.
Much have I tried to guide the Fist along,
But still the Blunderers plac’d their Blottings wrong:
Behold these Marks uncouth! how strange that men,
Who guide the Plough, should fail to guide the Pen;
For half a mile, the Furrows even lie;
For half an inch the Letters stand awry;—
Is it that, strong and sturdy in the Field,
They scorn the Arms of idle men to wield;
Or give that Hand to guide the Goosequill-tip,
That rules a Team and brandishes a Whip?
The Lions they, whom conscious powers forbid,
To play the Ape and “dandle with the Kid.”
But yet, small Arts have charms for Female Eyes;
Our Rustic Nymphs, the Beau and Scholar prize;
Unletter’d Swains and Plough-men coarse, they slight.
For those who dress and Amorous Scrolls indite.

For Bridget Dawdle happier Days had been,
Had Footman Daniel scorn’d his native Green;
Or when he came an idle Coxcomb down,
Had he his Love reserv’d for Lass in Town;
To Roger Pluck she then had pledg’d her Truth,—
A sturdy, sober, kind, unpolish’d Youth;
But from the day, that fatal day she spied
The Pride of Daniel, Daniel was her Pride.
In all Concerns was Roger just and true, }
But coarse his Doublet was and patch’d in view, }
And Felt his Stockings were and blacker than his Shoe;}
While Daniel’s Linen all was fine and fair,—
His Master wore it and he deign’d to wear;—
(To wear his Livery, some Respect might prove;
To wear his Linen, must be sign of Love;)
Blue was his Coat, unsoil’d by spot or stain;
His Hose were Silk, his Shoes of Spanish-grain;
A Silver Knot, his breadth of Shoulder bore; }
A Diamond Buckle blaz’d his Breast before; }
Diamond he swore it was! and shew’d it as he swore: }
Rings on his Fingers shone; his milk-white Hand,
Could Pick-tooth Case and Box for Snuff command:
And thus, with clouded Cane, a Fop complete,
He stalk’d, the jest and glory of the Street:
Join’d with these powers, he could so sweetly sing,
Talk with such toss and saunter with such swing;
Laugh with such Glee and trifle with such Art,
That Bridget’s Promise, fail’d to shield her Heart.
Roger, meantime, to ease his amorous Cares,
Fix’d his full mind upon his Farm’s Affairs;
Two Pigs, a Cow, and Wethers half a Score,
Increas’d his Stock and still he look’d for more;
He, for his Acres few, so duly paid,
That yet more Acres to his lot were laid;
Till our chaste Nymphs no longer felt disdain,
And prudent Matrons prais’d the frugal Swain;
Who thriving well, through many a fruitful Year,
Now cloth’d himself anew, and acted Overseer.
Just then poor Bridget from her Friend in Town,
Fled in pure fear, and came a beggar down;
Trembling at Roger’s door, she knock’d for Bread,— }
Was chidden first, next pitied, and then fed; }
Then sat at Roger’s Board, then shar’d in Roger’s Bed: }
All Hope of Marriage lost in her Disgrace,
He mourns a Flame reviv’d, and she a love of Lace.

Now to be wed, a well-match’d Couple came;
Twice had old Lodge been tied, and twice the Dame:
Tottering they came and toying, (odious scene!)
And fond and simple, as they’d always been.
Children, from Wedlock we by Laws restrain;
Why not prevent them, when they’re such again?
Why not forbid the doating Souls, to prove,
Th’ indecent Fondling of preposterous Love?
In spite of Prudence, uncontroll’d by Shame,
The amorous Senior wooes the toothless Dame,
Relating idly, at the closing eye,
The youthful Follies he disdains to leave;
Till youthful Follies wake a transient Fire,
When arm in arm, they totter and retire.
So a fond Pair of solemn Birds, all day,
Blink in their seat and doze the hours away;
Then by the Moon awaken’d, forth they move,
And fright the Songsters, with their cheerless Love.
So two sear Trees, dry, stunted, and unsound,
Each other catch, when dropping to the ground;
Entwine their wither’d Arms ’gainst wind and weather,
And shake their leafless Heads and drop together.
So two dead Limbs, touch’d by Galvani’s Wire,
Move with new life and feel awaken’d fire;
Quivering awhile, their flaccid Forms remain,
Then turn to cold torpidity again.

“But ever frowns your Hymen? Man and Maid,
“Are all repenting, suffering or betray’d?”
Forbid it Love! w e have our Couples here,
Who hail the Day in each revolving Year:
These are with us, as in the World around;
They are not frequent, but they may be found.
Our Farmers too, what though they fail to prove,
In Hymen’s Bonds, the tenderest Slaves of Love,
(Nor, like those Pairs whom Sentiment unites,
Feel they the fervour of the Mind’s Delights;)
Yet coarsely kind and comfortably gay,
They heap the Board and hail the happy Day;
And though the Bride, now freed from School, admits
Of Pride implanted there, some transient fits;
Yet soon she casts her girlish Flights aside,
And in substantial Blessings rests her Pride.
No more she plays, no more attempts to fit
Her steps responsive to the squeaking Kit;
No more recites her French, the Hinds among,
But chides her Maidens in her mother-tongue;
Her Tambour-frame she leaves and Diet spare,
Plain-work and Plenty with her House to share;
Till, all her Varnish lost, in few short years,
In all her Worth, the Farmer’s Wife appears.
Yet not the ancient Kind; nor she who gave
Her soul to gain—a Mistress and a Slave;
Who not to Sleep allow’d the needful Time!
To whom Repose was loss, and Sport a crime;
Who in her meanest Room, (and all were mean,)
A noisy Drudge, from morn till night was seen;—
But she, the Daughter, boasts a decent Room,
Adorn’d with Carpet, form’d in Wilton’s loom;
Fair Prints along the paper’d wall are spread;}
There, Werter sees the sportive Children fed,}
And Charlotte here, bewails her Lover dead.}
’Tis here, assembled, while in room apart
Their Husbands drinking warm the opening heart,
Our neighbouring Dames, on Festal Days, unite
With tongues more fluent and with hearts as light;
Their’s is that Art, which English Wives alone,
Profess—a boast and privilege their own;
An Art it is, where each at once attends
To all, and claims attention from her Friends,
When they engage the Tongue, the Eye, the Ear;
Reply when list’ning, and when speaking hear:
The ready Converse knows no dull delays,
“But double are the Pains, and double be the Praise[9].”
Yet not to those alone who bear Command,
Heav’n gives a Heart to hail the Marriage Band;
Among their servants, we the Pairs can show,
Who much to Love and more to Prudence owe:
Reuben and Rachel, though as fond as Doves,
Were yet discreet and cautious in their Loves;
Nor would attend to Cupid’s wild Commands,
Till cool Reflection bade them join their Hands;
When both were poor, they thought it argued ill
Of hasty Love to make them poorer still;
Year after year, with Savings long laid by,
They bought the future Dwelling’s full Supply:
Her frugal Fancy cull’d the smaller Ware,
The weightier Purchase ask’d her Reuben’s Care;
Together then their last Year’s Gain they threw,
And lo! an auction’d Bed, with Curtains neat and new.
Thus both, as Prudence counsell’d, wisely stay’d,
And cheerful then the Calls of Love obey’d:
What if, when Rachel gave her Hand, ’twas one
Embrown’d by Winter’s Ice and Summer’s Sun;
What if, in Reuben’s Hair, the female Eye
Usurping Grey among the Black could spy;
What if in both, Life’s bloomy Flush was lost,
And their full Autumn felt the mellowing Frost;
Yet Time, who blow’d the Rose of Youth away,
Had left the vigorous Stem without decay;
Like those tall Elms, in Farmer Frankford’s Ground,
They’ll grow no more,—but all their Growth is sound;
By time confirm’d and rooted in the Land,
The storms they’ve stood, still promise they shall stand.

These are the happier Pairs, their Life has rest,
Their Hopes are strong, their humble Portion blest;
While those more rash to hasty Marriage led,
Lament th’ impatience which now stints their Bread;
When such their Union, years of Pain they know,
Their Joys come seldom and their Pains pass slow;
In Health just fed, in Sickness just reliev’d;
By Hardships harass’d and by Children griev’d;
In petty Quarrels and in peevish Strife,
The once fond Couple waste the Spring of Life;
But when to Age mature those Children grown,
Find Hopes and Homes and Hardships of their own;
The harass’d Couple feel their lingering Woes
Then passing off and find, at length, Repose.
Complaints and Murmurs then are laid aside,
(By Reason these subdued and those by Pride,)
And calm in Cares with Patience Man and Wife,
Agree to share the Bitter-sweet of Life;
(Life that has Sorrow much and Sorrow’s Cure,
Where they who most enjoy shall much endure;)
Their Rest, their Labour, Duties, Sufferings, Prayers,
Compose the Soul and fit it for its Cares;
Their Graves before them and their Griefs behind,
Have each a Med’cine for the Rustic Mind;
Nor has he care to whom his Wealth shall go,
Or who shall labour with his Spade and Hoe;
But as he lends the Strength that yet remains,
And some dead Neighbour on his Bier sustains,
(One with whom oft he whirl’d the bounding Flail,
Toss’d the broad Coite or took th’ inspiring Ale):
“For me,” (he meditates,) “shall soon be done,
“This friendly Duty, when my Race be run;
“’Twas first in Trouble as in Error past,

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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