Nor prize your life for other ends
Than merely to oblige your friends;
Your former actions claim their part,
And join to fortify your heart.
For virtue in her daily race,
Like Janus, bears a double face;
Looks back with joy where she has gone,
And therefore goes with courage on.
She at your sickly couch will wait,
And guide you to a better state.
O then, whatever Heaven intends,
Take pity on your pitying friends!
Nor let your ills affect your mind,
To fancy they can be unkind.
Me, surely me, you ought to spare,
Who gladly would your suffering share,
Or give my scrap of life to you,
And think it far beneath your due;
You, to whose care so oft I owe
That I'm alive to tell you so.
TO MRS. THRALE ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR.
OFT in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five!
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five,
High to soar and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five,
Ladies, stock and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five,
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five;
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
AWAY, let nought to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What tho' no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood; We'll shine in more substantial honours, And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke:
And all the great ones, they shall wonder
How they respect such little folk.
What tho' from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live.
Thro' age and youth in love excelling,
We'll hand in hand together tread,
Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.
How shall I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung;
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue.
And when with envy time transported,
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.
A MAN may live thrice Nestor's life,
Thrice wander out Ulysses' race,
Yet never find Ulysses' wife;--
Such change hath chanced in this case!
Less age will serve than Paris had,
Small pain (if none be small enow)
To find good store of Helen's trade:
Such sap the root doth yield the bough!
For one good wife, Ulysses slew
A worthy knot of gentle blood:
For one ill wife, Greece overthrew
The town of Troy.—Sith bad and good
Bring mischief, Lord let be thy will
To keep me free from either ill!
THE JOYS OF WEDLOCK.
How blest has my time been! what joys have I known,
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own!
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.
Through walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray,
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play:
How pleasing their sport is! the wanton ones see
And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me.
To try her sweet temper, oft times am I seen,
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green;
Tho' painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
And meets me at night with complaisance and smiles.
What though on her cheeks the rose loses its hue,
Her wit and good humour bloom all the year through;
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth,
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.
Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare,
And cheat with false vows, the too credulous fair;
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam!
To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
Edward Moore.
ON THE MARRIAGE ACT.
THE fools that are wealthy are sure of a bride;
For riches like raiment their nakedness hide:
The slave that is needy must starve all his life,
In a bachelor's plight, without mistress or wife.
In good days of yore they ne'er troubled their heads
In settling of jointures, or making of deeds;
But Adam and Eve, when they first enter'd course,
E'en took one another for better or worse.
Then pr'ythee, dear Chloe, ne'er aim to be great,
Let love be the jointure, don't mind the estate;
You can never be poor who have all of these charms;
And I shall be rich when I've you in my arms.
ΤΟ HIS WIFE WITH A KNIFE ON THE
FOURTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER
WEDDING-DAY, WHICH HAPPENED TO BE
HER BIRTH-DAY AND NEW YEAR'S DAY.
A KNIFE, dear girl, cuts love, they say—
Mere modish love perhaps it may;
For any tool of any kind
Can separate what was never join'd.
The knife that cuts our love in two
Will have much tougher work to do:
Must cut your softness, worth, and spirit
Down to the vulgar size of merit;
To level yours with common taste,
Must cut a world of sense to waste;
And from your single beauty's store,
Clip what would dizen out a score.
The self-same blade from me must sever
Sensation, judgment, sight-for ever!
All memory of endearments past,
All hope of comforts long to last,
All that makes fourteen years with you
A summer-and a short one too:
All that affection feels and fears,
When hours, without you, seem like years.
'Till that be done,-and I'd as soon
Believe this knife would clip the moon,-
Accept my present undeterr'd,
And leave their proverbs to the herd.
If in a kiss-delicious treat!
Your lips acknowledge the receipt;
Love, fond of such substantial fare,
And proud to play the glutton there,
All thoughts of cutting will disdain,
Save only-" cut and come again."
TO HIS WIFE ON THE SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING-DAY, WITH A RING.
"THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,"
So sixteen years ago I said—
Behold another ring! "for what?"
To wed thee o'er again-why not?
With the first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth;
Taste long admired, sense long rever'd,
And all my Molly then appear'd.
If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.
Here then to-day, with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine
I took thy troth, and plighted mine.
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