I grant thee Life; reserving still the Pow'r
To take the Forfeit when I fee my Hour:
Unless thy Answer to my next Demand
Shall fet Thee free from our avenging Hand;
The Question, whofe Solution I require,
Is what the Sex of Women most defire?
In this Difpute thy Judges are at Strife;
Beware; for on thy Wit depends thy Life.
Yet (left furpriz'd, unknowing what to say
Thou damn thy felf) we give thee farther Day:
A Year is thine to wander at thy Will;
And learn from others, if thou want'ft the Skill.
But, not to hold our Proffer turn'd in Scorn,
Good Sureties will we have for thy Return;
That at the Time prefix'd thou shalt obey,
And at thy Pledges Peril keep thy Day.
Woe was the Knight at this fevere Command!
But well he knew 'twas bootlefs to withstand:
The Terms accepted as the Fair ordain,
He put in Bail for his Return again.
And promis'd Answer at the Day affign'd,
The beft, with Heav'ns Affiftance, he cou'd find.
His Leave thus taken, on his Way he went With heavy Heart, and full of Discontent, Misdoubting much, and fearful of th' Event. "Twas hard the Truth of fuch a Point to find, As was not yet agreed among the Kind.
Thus on he went; still anxious more and more,
Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at ev'ry Door;
Enquir'd of Men; but made his chief Request
To learn from Women what they lov'd the best.
They answer'd each according to her Mind
To please her felf, not all the Female Kind.
One was for Wealth, another was for Place:
Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better Face.
The Widow's Wifh was oftentimes to Wed;
The wanton Maids were all for Sport a-Bed.
Some faid the Sex were pleas'd with handfom Lies,
And fome grofs Flatt'ry lov'd without difguife:
Truth is, fays one, he feldom fails to win
Who Flatters well, for that's our darling Sin.
But long Attendance, and a duteous Mind,
Will work ev'n with the wiseft of the Kind.
One thought the Sexes prime Felicity
Was from the Bonds of Wedlock to be free:
Their Pleasures, Hours, and Actions all their own,
And uncontroll'd to give Account to none.
Some wish a Husband-Fool; but fuch are curft,
For Fools perverse, of Husbands are the worst:
All Women wou'd be counted Chaft and Wife,
Nor fhould our Spouses fee, but with our Eyes;
For Fools will prate; and tho' they want the Wit
To find close Faults, yet open Bolts will hit:
Tho' better for their Eafe to hold their Tongue,
For Womankind was never in the Wrong.
So Noise enfues, and Quarrels last for Life;
The Wife abhors the Fool, the Fool the Wife.
And fome Men say that great Delight have we,
To be for Truth extoll'd, and Secrecy:
And constant in one Purpose still to dwell;
And not our Husband's Counsels to reveal,
But that's a Fable; for our Sex is frail,
Inventing rather than not tell a Tale.
Like leaky Sives no Secrets we can hold;
Witness the famous Tale that Ovid told.
Midas the King, as in his Book appears,
By Phœbus was endow'd with Affes Ears,
Which under his long Locks he well conceal'd,
(As Monarchs Vices must not be reveal'd)
For fear the People have 'em in the Wind,
Who long ago were neither Dumb nor Blind;
Nor apt to think from Heav'n their Title fprings,
Since Jove and Mars left off begetting Kings.
This Midas knew; and durft communicate
To none but to his Wife, his Ears of State:
One must be trufted, and he thought her fit,
As paffing prudent; and a parlous Wit.
To this fagacious Confeffor he went,
And told her what a Gift the Gods had fent:
But told it under Matrimonial Seal,
With strict Injunction never to reveal.
The Secret heard, the plighted him her Troth,
(And facred fure is every Woman's Oath)
The Royal Malady should rest unknown,
Both for her Husband's Honour and her own:
But ne'ertheless she pin'd with Discontent;
The Counsel rumbled till it found a vent.
The Thing she knew she was oblig❜d to hide;
By Int'reft and by Oath the Wife was ty'd ;
But if she told it not the Woman dy'd,
Loth to betray a Husband and a Prince,
But she must burst, or blab; and no Pretence
Of Honour ty'd her Tongue from Self-defence.
A marshy Ground commodiously was near,
Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear,
Left if a Word she spoke of any Thing,
That Word might be the Secret of the King.
Thus full of Counsel to the Fen she went,
Grip'd all the way, and longing for a Vent:
Arriv'd, by pure Neceffity compell'd,
On her majestick Mary-bones she kneel'd:
Then to the Waters-brink the laid her Head,
And, as a Bittour bumps within a Reed,
To thee alone, O Lake, fhe faid, I tell
(And as thy Queen command thee to conceal )
Beneath his Locks the King my Husband wears
A goodly Royal pair of Affes Ears:
Now I have eas'd my Bofom of the Pain,
Till the next longing Fit return again !
Thus through a Woman was the Secret known; Tell us, and in effect you tell the Town: But to my Tale: The Knight with heavy Cheer, Wandring in vain had now confum'd the Year:
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