Nor jealousy the bane of marry'd life,
Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife,
and ugliness, as all agree,
Are the best guards of female chastity.
Yet fince I fee your mind is worldly bent, I'll do my best to further your content.
And therefore of two gifts in
Think ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose;
Wou'd you I should be still deform'd and old,
Naufeous to touch, and loathfom to behold;
On this condition to remain for life
A careful, tender and obedient wife,
In all I can contribute to your ease,
And not in deed, or word, or thought displease :
Or would you rather have me young and fair,
And take the chance that happens to your share?
Temptations are in beauty, aud in youth,
And how can you depend upon my truth!
Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss,
And thank yourself, if ought thould fall amiss.
Sore figh'd the knight, who this long fermon
heard;
At length confid'ring all, his heart he chear'd ;
And thus reply'd: My lady, and my wife,
To your wife conduct I refign my life:
Choose you for me, for well you understand
The future good and ill, on either hand :
But if an humble husband may request,
Provide, and order all things for the best;
Your's be the care to profit, and to please :
And let your fubject fervant take his ease.
Then thus in peace, quoth fhe, concludes the
Since I am turn'd the husband, you the wife;
The matrimonial victory is mine,
Which, having fairly gain'd, I will refign;
Forgive if I have faid or done amifs,
And feal the bargain with a friendly kiss:
I promis'd you but one content to share,
But now I will become both good and fair,
No nuptial quarrel fhall difturb your ease;
The bus'ness of my life fhall be to please :
And for my beauty, that, as time shall try,
But draw the curtain first, and caft your eye.
He look'd, and faw a creature heav'nly fair,
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air.
With joy he turn'd, and feiz'd her iv'ry arm ;
And like Pygmalion found the statue warm.
Small arguments there needed to prevail,
A ftorm of kiffes pour'd as thick as hail.
Thus long in mutual blifs they lay embrac'd,
And their first love continu'd to the last:
One sunshine was their life, no cloud between;
Nor ever was a kinder couple seen.
And fo may all our lives like their's be led;
Heav'n fend the maids young husbands fresh in bed:
May widows wed as often as they can,
And ever for the better change their man.
And fome devouring plague pursue their lives,
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives.
Parish priest was of the pilgrim-train ; An awful, reverend, and religious man. eyes diffus'd a venerable
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his foul, tho his attire was poor;
(As God had cloth'd his own ambaffador ;)
For fuch, on earth, his blefs'd redeemer bore.
Of fixty years he seem'd; and well might last
To fixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;
Refin'd himself to foul, to curb the sense;
And made almost a fin of abftinence.
Yet, had his afpect nothing of fevere,
But such a face as promis'd him fincere.
Nothing referv'd or fullen was to fee:
But fweet regards; and pleafing fanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd;
Tho harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd.
For letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky:
And oft with holy hymns, he charm'd their ears:
(A mufic more melodious than the spheres.)
For David left him, when he went to reft,
His lyre; and after him he sung the best.
He bore his great commiffion in his look:
But sweetly temper'dawe; and foften'd all he spoke.
He preach'd the joys of heav'n, and pains of hell:
And warn'd the finner with becoming zeal;
But on eternal mercy lov'd to dwell.
He taught the gofpel rather than the law;
And forc'd himself to drive; but lov'd to draw.
For fear but freezes minds: but love, like heat,
Exhales the foul fublime, to feek her native feat,
To threats the ftubborn finner oft is hard,
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepar'd;
But, when the milder beams of mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (heav'n's artillery)
As harbingers before th' almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his ftile, and disappear;
The ftiller found fucceeds, and God is there.
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