THE OLD BACHELOR.
AFTER THE MANNER OF SPENSER.
1 In Phoebus' region while some bards there be
That sing of battles, and the trumpet's roar;
Yet these, I ween, more powerful bards than me,
Above my ken, on eagle pinions soar!
Haply a scene of meaner view to scan,
Beneath their laurelled praise my verse may give,
To trace the features of unnoticed man;
Deeds, else forgotten, in the verse may live!
Her lore, mayhap, instructive sense may teach,
From weeds of humbler growth within my lowly reach.
2 A wight there was, who single and alone
Had crept from vigorous youth to waning age,
Nor e'er was worth, nor e'er was beauty known
His heart to captive, or his thought engage:
Some feeble joyaunce, though his conscious mind
Might female worth or beauty give to wear,
Yet to the nobler sex he held confined
The genuine graces of the soul sincere,
And well could show with saw or proverb quaint
All semblance woman's soul, and all her beauty paint.
3 In plain attire this wight apparelled was,
(For much he conned of frugal lore and knew,)
Nor, till some day of larger note might cause,
From iron-bound chest his better garb he drew:
But when the Sabbath-day might challenge more,
Or feast, or birthday, should it chance to be,
A glossy suit devoid of stain he wore,
And gold his buttons glanced so fair to see,
Gold clasped his shoon, by maiden brushed so sheen,
And his rough beard he shaved, and donned his linen clean.
4 But in his common garb a coat he wore,
A faithful coat that long its lord had known,
That once was black, but now was black no more,
Attinged by various colours not its own.
All from his nostrils was the front embrowned,
And down the back ran many a greasy line,
While, here and there, his social moments owned
The generous signet of the purple wine.
Brown o'er the bent of eld his wig appeared,
Like fox's trailing tail by hunters sore affeared.
5 One only maid he had, like turtle true,
But not like turtle gentle, soft, and kind;
For many a time her tongue bewrayed the shrew,
And in meet words unpacked her peevish mind.
Ne formed was she to raise the soft desire
That stirs the tingling blood in youthful vein,
Ne formed was she to light the tender fire,
By many a bard is sung in many a strain:
Hooked was her nose, and countless wrinkles told
What no man durst to her, I ween, that she was old.
6 When the clock told the wonted hour was come
When from his nightly cups the wight withdrew,
Eight patient would she watch his wending home,
His feet she heard, and soon the bolt she drew.
If long his time was past, and leaden sleep
O'er her tired eyelids 'gan his reign to stretch,
Oft would she curse that men such hours should keep,
And many a saw 'gainst drunkenness would preach;
Haply if potent gin had armed her tongue,
All on the reeling wight a thundering peal she rung.
7 For though, the blooming queen of Cyprus' isle
O'er her cold bosom long had ceased to reign,
On that cold bosom still could Bacchus smile,
Such beverage to own if Bacchus deign:
For wine she prized not much, for stronger drink
Its medicine, oft a cholic-pain will call,
And for the medicine's sake, might envy think,
Oft would a cholic-pain her bowels enthral;
Yet much the proffer did she loathe, and say
No dram might maiden taste, and often answered nay.
8 So as in single animals he joyed,
One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed;
The first the cate-devouring mice destroyed,
Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled:
All in the sunbeams basked the lazy cat,
Her mottled length in couchant posture laid;
On one accustomed chair while Pompey sat,
And loud he barked should Puss his right invade.
The human pair oft marked them as they lay,
And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they.
9 A room he had that faced the southern ray,
Where oft he walked to set his thoughts in tune,
Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway,
All to the music of his creeking shoon.
And at the end a darkling closet stood,
Where books he kept of old research and new,
In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood,
And rusty nails and phials not a few:
Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well,
And papers squared and trimmed for use unmeet to tell.
10 For still in form he placed his chief delight,
Nor lightly broke his old accustomed rule,
And much uncourteous would he hold the wight
That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool;
And oft in meet array their ranks he placed,
And oft with careful eye their ranks reviewed;
For novel forms, though much those forms had graced,
Himself and maiden-minister eschewed:
One path he trod, nor ever would decline
A hair's unmeasured breadth from off the even line.
11 A Club select there was, where various talk
On various chapters passed the lingering hour,
And thither oft he bent his evening walk,
And warmed to mirth by wine's enlivening power.
And oft on politics the preachments ran,
If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume:
And oft important matters would they scan,
And deep in council fix a nation's doom:
And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer,
Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they loved to hear.
12 For men like him they were of like consort,
Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn,
Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport,
And blessed their stars that kept the curse from them!
No honest love they knew, no melting smile
That shoots the transports to the throbbing heart!
Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile
Lascivious smiling through the mask of art:
And so of women deemed they as they knew,
And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew.
13 But most abhorred they hymeneal rites,
And boasted oft the freedom of their fate:
Nor 'vailed, as they opined, its best delights
Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait;
And often would they tell of henpecked fool
Snubbed by the hard behest of sour-eyed dame.
And vowed no tongue-armed woman's freakish rule
Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame:
Then pledged their hands, and tossed their bumpers o'er,
And Io! Bacchus! sung, and owned no other power.
14 If e'er a doubt of softer kind arose
Within some breast of less obdurate frame,
Lo! where its hideous form a phantom shows
Full in his view, and Cuckold is its name.
Him Scorn attended with a glance askew,
And Scorpion Shame for delicts not his own,
Her painted bubbles while Suspicion blew,
And vexed the region round the Cupid's throne:
'Far be from us,' they cried, 'the treacherous bane,
Far be the dimply guile, and far the flowery chain!'