"Madam, by persons of discerning,
My friend is known for store of learning;
While you are bless'd with those rare charms,
A Prince might wish to fill his arms."
He gently smil'd and so did she,
At this same two-fold flattery,
Which, in a moment, seem'd to smother
The flames of anger 'gainst each other:
He therefore ventur'd to proceed,
But did not now so well succeed.
"You ask me to unfold my thought,
Which is with truth and friendship fraught.
We all well know, in life's great stake,
There's such a Rule as give and take;
A maxim, with your good in view,
I recommend to both of you.
On this, for peace, fix your reliance,
And learn to practise kind compliance.
If he is haughty, soothe his pride,
Nor with disdainful glances chide. |
When you are angry, he must chase
All frownings from that lovely face,
With tender words and soft embrace. | } |
Both of you now are in the wrong,
He with his book,—you with your tongue."
But, ere he could his speech conclude,
With scornful look and accents rude,
Again the furious Dame began:—
"What Impudence is in the Man!
Thus, 'gainst his betters, to let loose
His vulgar tongue in such abuse.
My husband to be thus belied,
Who is my love, my boast, my pride!"
When Start-up foam'd,—"You risk your life,
In treating thus my darling wife;
Who, I proclaim, as 'tis my duty,
Has charms superior to her beauty!"
Then each gave each a warm embrace,
And both star'd in poor Free-born's face,
The one as if he wish'd to beat him,
The other as if she could have eat him.
He then, as suiting her desire,
Threw the base volume in the fire,
When she——"Thus ends a petty fuss
Which may cross those who love like us;
Though I might wish it had not been
By such a saucy booby seen."
—Free-born, but not from sense of fear,
Now thought it best to disappear;
And as they rang the clam'rous bell,
He heard them both the servant tell—
"Discharg'd you shall be, if the door
Is open'd to that varlet more."
—Such vulgar threat the 'Squire amus'd,
For he no more would be refus'd
By those whose silly actions prove
That they could scold, and lie, and love:
But still he rather felt the wrongs
Which had proceeded from the tongues
Of those who had no fair pretence
At what he said to take offence:
A pretty way to make amends
For having treated them as friends;
In short, he thought it best to fly
His late acquir'd society:
Pert Lawyers and such busy men
As in some office wield the pen;
Who, when their daily labour's done,
Put their best coats and faces on;
Leave home, where tallow dimly lights 'em,
For wax, when some dull fool invites 'em,
The plenteous evening to prolong
In lively glee or tender song,
Or in some funny tale to shine,
And give a current to the wine. |
There, too, their wives and sisters flow,
Gay, scanty finery to show,
In gawdy trim and furbelow; | } |
Who can, perhaps, the music play,
And scream the carol of the day;
Nay, work a waltz, while staring eyes
Proclaim their gentle ecstasies.
At length the shawls and wrappers come,
When in their hacks they trundle home.
—Though, after all, whate'er his aim,
Whate'er his fancy chose to claim,
'Twas not amiss;—this first degree
In what is call'd society,
Where step by step he must advance
To higher place in fashion's dance:
But with the folk, he 'gan to find,
Who din'd with him, he never din'd,
And got no more than casual tea
For what his guests thought luxury;
And, in a snug, familiar way,
For all they gave, they made him pay.
Besides, he sometimes felt offence,
At what he thought impertinence:
Such as they were, both great and small,
He cut acquaintance with them all.
His purse had thus indulg'd his whim,
But they ne'er heard again from him. |
| |
He now suspected that his plan,
Of turning to a Gentleman,
Was not so easy to be brought
To such success as he had thought.
But still he ventur'd to turn over
New plans by which he might discover |
Some means to realize his scheme,
But it, at times, began to seem
Somewhat, indeed, too like a dream. | } |