Wedding.
See Marriage.

Hymen and Love their nuptial Torches raise,
And rich Perfumes on every Altar blaze.
With flow'ry Garlands are the Houses hung:
Flutes, Harps, and Hautboys aid the warbling Song,
And Joy is now the Theme of ev'ry Tongue.
Ope, wide, the Palace Gates extended flew;
The regal Treasures are expos'd to view:
The Cephine Peers, each an invited Guest,
In Pomp assemble to the royal Feast.
The Banquet over, brisk the rosy Bowl
Moves round and round, enlarging every Soul.--

--The Roofs with Joy resound,
And Hymen! Io Hymen! rung around.
Rais'd Altars shone with holy Fires: the Bride
Lovely herself (and lovely by her side
A Bevy of bright Nymphs,) with sober Grace,
Came glitt'ring like a Star, and took her Place.
We joy Perithous of his happy Choice.--

Already standing at the Door, too long
Sweet Hymen waits to raise the nuptial Song:
Her sacred Bands majestick Juno lends,
And Concord with her flaming Torch attends.--
Wedding (Unlucky.)

Nor Hymen, nor the Graces here preside,
Nor Juno to befriend the blooming Bride:
But Fiends with fun'ral Brands the Process led,
And Furies waited at the genial Bed:
And all Night long the screeching Owl aloof,
With baleful Notes sat brooding o'er the Roof.--

Thence, in his saffron Robes, thro' boundless Skies,
To the Ciconian Borders Hymen flies:
In vain by Orpheus call'd, his Love to bless,
He came indeed, but could not bring Success.
No chearful Omens, or auspicious Words,
No Looks of Joy the gloomy God affords.
The Torch his Hand sustain'd, still sput'ring, rais'd
A sullen Smoke, nor yet, tho' shaken, blaz'd.

Th' Event still worse than these Presages prov'd;
For whilst the Bride along the Meadows rov'd,
Encompass'd by the sportive Naïd Throng,
Her by the Heel a venom'd Viper stung,
And instant Death ensu'd.--

In plain unsolemn wise his Faith he plights,
And calls the Gods to view the lonely Rites.
No Garlands gay the cheerful Portal crown'd,
Nor wooly Fillets wove the Posts around:
No genial Bed, with rich Embroidery grac'd,
On Iv'ry Steps in lofty State was plac'd:
No Hymeneal Torch preceeding shone,
No Matron put the tow'ry Frontlet on,
Nor bad her Feet the sacred Threshold shun.
No yellow Veil was loosely thrown to hide
The rising Blushes of the trembling Bride:
No glitt'ring Zone her flowing Garments bound,
Nor sparkling Gems her Neck encompass'd round:
No silken Scarf, nor decent winding Lawn,
Was o'er her naked Arms and Shoulders drawn:
But, as she was, in Funeral Attire,
With all the Sadness Sorrow could inspire,
With Eyes dejected, with a joyless Face,
She met her Husband's, like a Son's Embrace.--

The howling Fiends, and ominous Birds of Night,
With dismal Notes, perform'd each nuptial Rite:
With her curl'd Snakes the fierce Alecto came,
To light our Tapers with infernal Flame.
Wickedness.

All live by Spoil, in Safety none remain;
The Guest, by him that harbour'd him, is slain:
The Son--in--Law pursues the Father's Life,
Brothers with their own Brothers are at Strife,
The Wife her Husband murders, he the Wife.
The Stepdame Poison for the Son prepares:
The Son inquires about his Father's Years.
Duty with Piety expiring lies,
And Justice weary'd out with bloody Cries,
Last of the Virtues, seeks her native Skies.--

Some think that Chance rules all, that Nature steers
Without a God,--
The moving Seasons, and turns around the Years,
These run to ev'ry Shrine, these boldly swear,
And keep no Faith, because they know no Fear.

Another doubts: but as his Doubts decline,
He dreads just Vengeance, and he starts at Sin:
He owns a God: and yet the Wretch forswears:
And thus he reasons to relieve his Fears.
Let Isis rage, so I securely hold
The Coin forsworn, and keep the ravish'd Gold.
Let Blindness, Lameness come: are Legs and Eyes
Of equal Value to so great a Prize?
The Vengeance of the Gods, tho' sure, is slow:
If, therefore, all must feel the dreadful Blow
Their Crimes deserve, so busy they must be,
'Twill be an Age before they come to me.
But they are wont to pardon and to spare,
And I too, may, perhaps, their Mercy share.
Oft, Sins alike, unlike Rewards have found,
One Villain's crucify'd, another crown'd.
The Man that shiver'd on the Brink of Sin,
Thus steel'd, and hard'ned, ventures boldly in.

He that once Sins, like him that slides on Ice,
Goes swiftly down the slippery Ways of Vice:
Tho' Conscience checks him, yet, those Rubs gone o'er
He slides on smoothly, and looks back no more.
What Sinners finish where they first begin,
And with one Crime content their Lust to sin?
Nature, that rude, and in her first Essay,
Stood boggling at the Roughness of the Way,
Us'd to the Road, unknowing to return,
Goes boldly on, and loves the Path when worn.

What Day's so sacred, but it's Rest's profan'd
By violent Robbers, or by Murder stain'd?
Here hir'd Assassins for their Gain invade,
And treach'rous Poys'ners urge their fatal Trade.
Good Men are scarce, the Just are thinly sown:--
Should We but count them, and our Store compile,
Yet Thebes more Gates would shew, more Mouths the fruitful Nile.--

Look o'er the World, see Force and Fraud increase,
Rapine in War, and Treachery in Peace:
But look for Truth and Faith, the Search is vain!
No Mind is honest, and no Thoughts are plain.
What bulky Villanies bestride the Age!
What Envy pushes on Mankind to Rage!
Envy not to be dispossess'd, her Throne
Is firmly fixt, and all the World's her own.
For cursed Gold is all the mighty Strife:
Sons sell their Father's and their Mother's Life,
Friends kill their Friends: and at the barb'rous Sight
The Sun retires, and leaves the World to Night.
While Brothers poison with a smiling Face,
And mix the Cup, and kill where they embrace:
No Place is safe, no Temple yields Defence,
'Gainst secret Stabs, or open Violence.
Those most betray who Kindness most pretend,
And Crowds of Villains skulk behind the Name of Friend.
The World's infected, Wrong and Fraud prevail,
While Truth, and Honesty, and Justice fail:
Nay, Laws support those Crimes they check'd before,
And Executions now affright no more.--
Wife.
See Portion.

A Country Girl, scarce to a Curt'sy bred,
Than Thee, Cornelia, rather would I wed:
If supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain,
Thou bring'st thy Father's Triumphs in thy Train.
Take hence thy boasted Hannibal, I pray,
Nor let behind him vanquish'd Syphax stay;
With all thy Carthaginian State pack up, and march away.--

What Beauty or what Chastity can bear
So great a Price? if stately and severe
She still insults, and you must still adore,
Grant that the Honey's much, the Gall is more:
Upbraided with the Virtues she displays,
Sev'n Hours in twelve you loath the Wife you praise.--

Besides, what endless Brawls by Wives are bred!
The Curtain Lecture makes a restless Bed.
Then, when she has Thee sure within the Sheets,
Worse than a Tyger robb'd,--
She roars, and tares, and all her Arts repeats.
Conscious of Crimes herself, she teizes first:
Thy Servants are accus'd, thy Whore is curs'd:
She acts the Jealous, and at Will she cries,
For Women's Tears are but the Sweat of Eyes.
Poor Cuckold Fool! Thou think'st her Love sincere,
And suck'st between her Lips the falling Tear:
But search her Cabinet, and thou shalt find
Each Tiller there, with Love Epistles lin'd.
Suppose her taken in a close Embrace:
This you would think so manifest a Case,
No Rhet'ric could defend, no Impudence outface:
And yet ev'n then, she cries,--the Marriage Vow
A mental Reservation must allow:
And there's a silent Bargain still imply'd,
The Parties should be pleas'd on either Side:
And both may for their private Ends provide.--

The gaudy Gossip, when she's set a--gog,
In Jewels drest, and at each Ear a Bob,
Goes flaunting forth, and in her Trim of Pride,
Thinks all she says or does, is justify'd.
When poor, she's scarce a tolerable Evil:
But rich, and fine, a Wife's a very Devil.

Mean--while the Husband's whole Estate is spent;
He may go bare, while she receives his Rent.
She minds him not: She lives not as a Wife,
But like a bawling Neighbour, full of Strife:
Near him, in this alone, that she extends
Her Hate to all his Servants and his Friends.--

But of all Plagues the greatest is untold:
The Book--learn'd Wife, in Greek and Latin bold.
The Critic--Dame, who at her Table sits,
Homer and Virgil quotes, and weighs their Wits;
And pities Dido's agonizing Fits.
She has so far th' Ascendant of the Board,
The prating Pedant puts not in one Word:
The Man of Law is non--plus'd in his Suit;
Nay, ev'ry other female Tongue is mute.
Hammers, and beating Anvils, you would swear,
And Vulcan with his whole Militia there.
Tabors and Trumpets cease: for she alone
Is able to redeem the lab'ring Moon.
Ev'n Wit's a Burden, when it talks too long:
But she who has no Continence of Tongue,
Should walk in Breeches, and should wear a Beard,
And mix among the Philosophic Herd.

O what a midnight Curse has he, whose Side
Is pester'd with a Mood and Figure Bride!
Let mine, Ye Gods! (if such must be my Fate)
No Logic learn, nor History translate!
But rather be a quiet humble Fool:
I hate a Wife to whom I go to School:
Who climbs the Grammar Tree, distinctly knows
Where Noun, and Verb, and Participle grows:
Corrects her Country Neighbour; and in Bed,
For breaking Priscian's, breaks her Husband's Head.--

It is not from the Gods, or Cupid's Dart,
That many a homely Woman wins the Heart:
A Wife well--humour'd, dutiful, and chaste,
And clean, will hold her wand'ring Husband fast:
Such are the Links of Love, and such a Love will last.--

In good Faith, we poor Wives have got a very ill Name with our Husbands: and because there are a few bad ones, the World judges hardly of us all.--
Will.

Whence comes this perfect Freedom of the Mind?
Whence comes the WILL so free and unconfin'd,
Above the Pow'r of Fate? by which we go
Where--e'er we please, and what we Will we do?--

A knavish Spartan was to Cheat inclin'd,
But wanted first to know Apollo's Mind;
Whether, if he with sacred Oaths deny'd
A trusted Pledge, Heav'n would be satisfy'd.
The Priestess answer'd, that his base Intent
Should not escape without a Punishment.
Startled at this, the Wretch gave up the Trust;
And was, thro' Fear, not Inclination, just.
Yet Plagues pursu'd him, and the mental Sin
Destroy'd himself, his Children, and his Kin.
Thus did he suffer for his wicked Will,
Tho' he ne'er practic'd the intended Ill.
That Man stands really guilty of the Fault,
Who in his Breast admits a wicked Thought:
Then what sad Punishment must He expect,
Who thinks a Crime, and brings it to effect?--

'Tis worthy Praise, a good Intent to shew,
When that is all We have a Pow'r to do:
The Gods excuse what--e'er is wanting more,
If with a willing Mind we them adore:
And not less pleas'd the poor Man's Lamb receive,
Than Bullocks which the Rich and Mighty give.--
Wine.
See Bacchus. Osiris.

Wine warms the Blood, and makes the Spirits flow,
Care fly, and Wrinkles from the Forehead go:
Exalts the Poor: invigorates the Weak:
Gives Mirth, and Laughter, and a rosy Cheek:
Bold Truths it speaks: and spoken, dares maintain:
And brings our old Simplicity again.
Wine makes the Youth the fair One's Charms admire:
And Love with Wine is Fire put to Fire.--

Would you that I my Thoughts on Wine declare?
Short my Advice, and few my Precepts are.
Wine drank discreetly warms the Heart to Love,
But Drunkenness does its Destruction prove:
A gentle Breeze of Wind blows up the Fire,
Whose rising Flames would in a Storm expire.--

Wine kept, they say, old Cato's Virtue warm;
Wine whets the Dull, and Wit inspires,
The Grave with sprightly Vigour fires,
And, by a never--failing Charm,
Unlocks the Mind, and all its gay Desires.
Wine with fresh Hope the Coward cheers,
Revives the Wretched and Undone,
And makes the Slave his Lord disown:
What Wretch, when arm'd by Bacchus, fears
To meet a Warrior's Arm, or stand a Tyrant's Frown?--

What Wonders cannot Wine effect? 'Tis free
Of Secrets, and turns Hope to Certainty.
The unarm'd Man it renders brave in War,
And rids the troubled Mind of all its Care.
It teaches Arts, it teaches how to think;
And what Man is not eloquent in Drink?
Or who's so much deprest by Poverty,
That Wine can't make him happy, rich, and free?--