“Ye fair injured nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive ’em,
Who with passion engage, and without reason leave ’em,
Draw near and attend how the Hero I sing
Was foiled by a Girl, though at Arms he was King.
Crest, mottoes, supporters, and bearings knew he,
And deeply was studied in old pedigree.
He would sit a whole evening, and, not without rapture,
Tell who begat who to the end of the Chapter.
In forming his tables nought grieved him so sorely
That the man died Cœlebs, or else sine prole.
At last, having traced other families down,
He began to have thoughts of increasing his own.
A Damsel he chose, not too slow of belief,
And fain would be deemed her admirer in chief.
He blazoned his suit, and the sum of his tale
Was his field and her field joined party per pale.
In different style, to tie faster the noose,
He next would attack her in soft billet doux.
His argent and sable were laid aside quite,
Plain English he wrote, and in plain black and white.
Against such atchievements what beauty could fence?
Or who would have thought it was all but pretence?—
His pain to relieve, and fulfil his desire,
The lady agreed to join hands with the squire.
The squire, in a fret that the jest went so far,
Considered with speed how to put in a bar.
His words bound not him, since hers did not confine her:
And that is plain law, because Miss is a minor.
Miss briskly replied that the law was too hard,
If she, who’s a minor, may not be a ward.
In law then confiding, she took it upon her,
By justice to mend those foul breaches of honour.
She handled him so that few would, I warrant,
Have been in his coat on so sleeveless an errant.
She made him give bond for stamped argent and or,
And sabled his shield with gules blazoned before.
Ye heralds produce, from the time of the Normans,
In all your Records such a base non-performance;
Or if without instance the case is we touch on,
Let this be set down as a blot in his scutcheon.” |