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IN wedlock once (’twas years agone)
Were join’d a simple pair;
The man in sooth was wondrous poor,
The woman wondrous fair.
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| Love is not
covetous, | What wonder then that they should love,
As none e’er loved before;
And tho’ few worldly goods they had,
They coveted no more.
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| but, whether
woman’s,
or
man’s, | For woman is a generous thing,
And loves for love alone;
And man he loves for beauty’s sake,
And dotes on flesh and bone.
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| For woman is a generous thing,
And loves for love alone;
And man he loves for beauty’s sake,
And dotes on flesh and bone.
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consists not
with starvation; | But flesh and bone they must be fed,
As all the world doth know;
Withouten food the loveliest flesh
Most hideous soon doth grow.
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| Nor bone will thrive on love alone,
If bread and meat it lacks;
Withouten food, the stronger love,
The weaker bone doth wax.
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| and is perill’d
by idleness,
| Now three weeks wedded had they been,
And though he was so poor,
The man, who had no goods within,
Scarce passed without the door.
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| The woman loved him still so much,
She wish’d for nought instead;
Yet did she pine, each night to go
All supperless to bed.
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| One night as o’er the hearth they sat,
The embers glowing bright,
My dear, quoth he, most fair by day
Thou’rt fairer still by night!
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which induces
want, | I too, quoth she, do love thee now
As ne’er I loved before;
Yet, were I not so hungry, I
Methinks should love thee more.
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| discontent,
| Alas, said he, that poverty
Should such fond hearts betide!
I fain would work,—but love thee so,
I cannot leave thy side:
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| and unavailing
wishes: | I wish that we were very rich!
She answer’d,—I am thine:
And, though I never cared for wealth,
Thy wishes shall be mine.
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| Scarce had they spoke when on the hearth
Appear’d a little fay:
So beautiful she was, the room
It shone as bright as day.
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| of which
even the full
indulgence | Then waving thrice her lily hand,
In silver tones she spake;—
Thrice may ye wish what wish ye please,
And thrice your wish shall take.
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| I am your guardian fay, she said,
And joy to see your love:
What would ye more to make you blest
As spirits are above?
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| The beauteous fay then vanishing,
The man he kiss’d his wife;
And swore he never was before
So happy in his life.
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| Now shall I be a lord, said he,
A bishop, or a king?
We’ll think it o’er to night, nor wish
In haste for any thing.
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| would end
in folly. | Be it, said she; to-morrow then
We’ll wish one wish, my dear:
In the meantime, I only wish
We had some pudding here.
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| Ah! luckless wish! upon the word,
A pudding straightway came:
At which the man wax’d high with rage,
The woman low with shame.
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Then folly
begets anger; | And as she hid her blushing eyes,
And crouch’d upon a stool;
The man he rose and stamp’d his foot,
And cursed her for a fool.
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| He stamp’d his foot, and clench’d his fist,
And scarce refrain’d from blows:
A pudding! zounds, cried he, I wish
You had it at your nose!
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| Up rose the pudding as he spake,
And, like an air-balloon,
Was borne aloft in empty space,
But oh! it settled soon:
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| and anger
strife, | Too soon it settled on the nose
Of his unhappy wife:
Alas! how soon an angry word
Turns harmony to strife!
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| For now the woman sobb’d aloud
To feel the pudding there;
And in her turn was angry too,
And call’d the man a bear.
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followed by
remorse and
shame. | But when their anger had burnt out,
Its ash remain’d behind;
Remorse and shame that they had been
So foolish and so blind.
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| The man brake silence first, and said,—
Two wishes now are gone,
And nothing gain’d; but one remains,
And much may still be done.—
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| Oh were it so! but I have gain’d
What much I wish to lose—
The woman blurted, as she saw
The pudding at her nose.
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| Then off the pudding flew amain,
And roll’d into the dish:
For she in sooth unwittingly
Had wish’d the other wish.
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| Now when the man saw what was done,
His choler quick return’d;
But when he look’d into her face,
With love again he burn’d.
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But love
consists with
a lowly
estate, | For now she smiled as she was wont,
And seem’d so full of charms,
That all unmindful of the past
He rush’d into her arms.
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| Oh! how I joy thou’rt not, she said,
Nor bishop, king, nor lord!
I love thee better as thou art,
I do, upon my word!
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| And I, said he, do dote on thee:
For now the pudding’s gone,
There’s not a face in any place
So pretty as thine own!
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| so there be
contentment, | But as we have the pudding here,
’Tis all we want,—said she,
Suppose we just sit down awhile
And eat it merrily. |
| and industry.
| With all my heart, my love, said he,
For I am hungry too:
From this time forth, I’ll strive to earn
Enough for me and you.
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Moral. | The fay then reappear’d, and spake
The moral of my song:—
“Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long.”
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| Love is a heavenly prize in sooth,
But earthborn flesh and bone,
If they would love, must live as well,
And cannot love alone.
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| Then strive to earn the bread of life,
And guard your body’s health;
But mark—enough is all you want,
And competence is wealth.
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| And to that happy soul, who love
With competency blends,
Contentment is a crown of joy!—
And here the moral ends.
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