A poem is not more absurd
Because its title is no word:
And yet that title, although small,
Is the great fountain whence spring all.
From this most copious source we'll draw
Youth, beauty, wedlock, love, and law.

The two extremes we'll surely find.
Which please and which torment the mind
For if we love and law can trace
'Twill be sufficient for our case.
A parson's work it nicely fits,
Who often join two opposites.

Nothing on earth the heart can move
To pleasure, like that passion love.
It reigns triumphant in the breast;
Supports and governs all the rest.

But Law's a monster that devours
The choicest comfort of your hours.
All other mischiefs may keep off;
Involv'd in law, you've plague enough,
This maxim then admits no doubt,
He who is in would fain be out.

Long dissertations are absurd--
We'll close without another word.

THE SECOND PART

As much of love shall now be told
As ever A. B. C. can hold.

That urchin Cupid knows his duty;
He'll always shoot a heart for beauty;
This he more eagerly will deign,
Because he seldom shoots in vain.

If Plutus too should give a nod,
He's willing to obey the god;
For wealth and charms in any state
Most certainly will captivate.

But if Miss Prudence claims his care,
'He seldom has a dart to spare.'
Thus what should merit most respect
Is apt to meet with most neglect.

Of all the pictures earth can boast,
A handsome woman pleases most;
And the most powerful she appears
Over fourteen or fourscore years.
The moment you a sight can have,
That moment you become her slave.
The looker-on is all on fire
Either with wonder or desire;
Supremely then is beauty bless'd;
No creature is like her caress'd.

But view the fair in her last stage,
Struggling with long decays of age,
When kind assistance is most needed,
There's not a soul so little heeded.
The picture's dash'd, no pity's nigh,
The looker-on turns off his eye:
In solitude she may abide;
Her sov'reign powers are laid aside.
That which was most of all high-priz'd.
Is now the most of all dispis'd.

Only three persons we'll engage,
By summons to adorn our page;
And all their names must secret be
Close shelter'd under A. B. C.

Miss A. was tall, and mov'd with grace;
Strait, and most beautiful of face;
To much good-nature was inclin'd;
It play'd both in her face and mind:
No wonder then, in deep surprize,
B fell a victim to her eyes;
For when those eyes but gave a glance,
A lover fell-you'd think, by chance.
But, should you doubt, then take a view,
You'd see her powers--and feel them too:
For, like a power that's magical,
Spite of yourself you're sure to fall.

In lover's eyes are plainly seen
The language that is held within.
With bowing, smiling, on his part,
He found the road that reach'd her heart;
While she, a stranger to disdain,
Would never let him sue in vain;
But, form'd for love, she, without guile,
Sweetly return'd him smile for smile.
Should, by her eyes, a lover drop,
She well knew how to raise him up.
Or, if he should a wound endure,
She'd perfectly perform a cure.

That state of bliss is half divine
When two bright flames in one shall join.
Can greater happiness remain
Than love, and be belov'd again?

When two folks are to union prone,
Then Hymen's cause moves gently on.
To grasp his torch he will not faulter,
That he may light them to the altar.
Examine whether 'tis in case right,
Give it a rap to make it blaze bright.

The banns put up, the ring was there,
The bride in satin would appear.
Now all the joyous blessings flow,
Except that time mov'd rather slow.

When most delicious fruit is nigh
It strongly tempts the stander-by;
And if no obstacle is near,
It is not easy to forbear.
What motive was there to have staid
Until the parson grace had said:
Our happy B those joys possess'd
Design'd to make a husband bless'd.

When a stale lover nothing wants,
Because he's all the sex e'er grants,
Would he call his a happier lot
After the priest had tied the knot?
For all that ever law has made
Only a licence is to trade.

No further pleasure B could know;
She no more pleasure could bestow:
A secret coldness was th' effect,
Succeeded by a small neglect.
His eyes, which met her eyes with glee,
Now rang'd a foot below her knee.
A conduct slighting he shew'd to her
More like a husband than a wooer.

The day pass'd by, indiff'rence planted,
Ring, gown, and parson, were not wanted.

'And, as the bell for supper rings,
I'll stop to say no more fine things.'

THE THIRD PART

Both law and love compose the past;
Poetic justice comes at last.

Love, like a blooming rose, is press'd
Within the precincts of the breast.
The owner often casts an eye,
Delighted with the pleasing toy.
Perhaps an hour it may not rest
Till planted in a second breast.
So on, from breast to breast it flies;
Wanting a prudent root it dies.

A young and handsome man was C;
The friend and intimate of B:
They oft converse, and notes compare,
Of laurels gather'd from the fair.
Between these two it was agreed
'That B should be compleatly freed
Of beauteous A; and C should take her
While B for ever should forsake her.
That as the banns 'twixt A and B
Stood in the church, they'd serve for C;
By which they'd save expence and time,'
And I procure a word to rhime.

Whether Miss A ponder'd a while on't
We cannot say; history is silent:
Yet no more grief appear'd to view
Than changing an old gown for new.

But now to church went A and C,
And married in the name of B.
The joyous day gave great delight;
Perhaps more joyous was the night;
But, like his predecessor, he
Cropp'd the ripe fruit, and left the tree:
For soon with matrimony cloy'd
He turn'd his tail upon the bride.
What though his conduct was absurd,
It left her ready for a third.
Nor can we think much hard her case
Who still commanded half the race.
Her beauty'd such a powerful sway
'Twould pick a man up ev'ry day.

Now while Miss A'd no husband near
She liv'd a life of 'as it were.'
Her person to support in state
Was much inclin'd to run in debt;
And when we debts contract, they say,
The time will come when we should pay.
But if neglect be on our side
Compulsive methods must be tried.
For common justice holds this tone,
'That ev'ry man should have his own.'

In vain for cash Miss A being sought
Was to the Court of Conscience brought.
The plaintiff thus the fair pursued,
In C's surname Miss A was sued.

The crowd, surpriz'd, began to stare
That so much beauty enter'd there.
Nay, cold Commissioners, 'tis true,
Would lick their lips and steal a view.
Thaw'd from the ice by warm desire,
A frozen stick will catch the fire;
Disguise the passion how you will,
'Tis nature, and 'tis nature still.
But seniors are not apt to fall;
To look and lick their lips is all.

A lawyer made appearance there,
And loudly pleaded for the fair;
Arrang'd his tropes, his figures dress'd,
In lofty stile himself express'd:
And pray what lawyer would dispute
To plead his best in beauty's suit?
But what was his retaining fee
Is no concern to you or me.

He pleaded with decisive air;
Resolv'd to win the cause--and fair:
'That none an action can support
Against a wife in any court.
That though her marriage had a flaw
It perfectly was good in law;
For as the ritual she'd gone through,
A wife must be to one of two;
And that's her real husband still
With whom she said at church I will.
Then if the plaintiff will pursue,
The husband is the mark in view.'

The bench was then my sole delight;
My care was parting wrong from right.
As I sat president of three,
Decision was referr'd to me.

'Was perfect beauty ever made
To hawk its charms for want of trade?
We hope no great defect comes forth
To quash the sale of so much worth.

That she ne'er chang'd a marriage vow
With the first man, we all allow;
So far from marrying the dame,
He never to the altar came;
Nor once commission'd any one
By proxy, to make her his own.
Nor could she be by right fix'd there,
No, not if Madan held the chair;
For he'd suppose, without reflection,
This might not be her first connexion.

Survey the second husband's claim;
His title will be found the same:
He left both parties in the lurch,
And put a trick upon the church.
A name that's stolen appears to view;
Also a borrow'd person too.
No banns put up 'twixt C and A,
Which must to wedlock lead the way;
For this is what the law demands;
On this a union falls or stands;
Therefore, if marriage has a flaw,
It can't be ratified by law.
Then this assertion springs from all;
No man can this a wedding call:
Or, if it should that phrase invite,
'Tis but the wedding of a night;
Or like one that is hatch'd up quick
By dancing round a candlestick;
Or one of military stamp,
That's solemniz'd within a camp:
The loving couple's plighted word
Is only jumping o'er a sword;
That sword, intended to divide,
Will there unite, and make a bride.

Besides, when there appears demur,
We must consult the register;
And though there should B's name appear,
Yet B himself was never there;
and if for C you chuse to look,
His name was never in the book.

This wedding's founded on no laws;
We must, of course, dismiss the cause;
For as a husband A ne'er knew,
No husband can the plaintiff sue;
But if he will pursue his claim,
May still sue A in her own name.

There's one delightful word we see
Compos'd of our A B and C.
To girls, whose flimzy virtue lies
Quite dormant, and whose passions rise,
That dear word husband stands the first
Of all the alphabet can boast:
In that cornpriz'd is every thing
That either Heaven or Earth can bring;
But, when that blessing husband's granted,
Then ev'ry other blessing's wanted.'

A, rather out of credit grown,
Display'd her charms upon the town.
'But why in Birmingham appear
Among the dirty bunters there?
Whose manners are a foul disgrace;
A satire on the female race.
She might a constellation rise,
And figure in the London skies;
Could charms display as bright as any,
In evenings when it was not rainy.'
'Tis done--and she acquir'd renown,
As the first beauty on the town.
Dress'd in the pink, she took her stand
Among the ladies of the Strand.
Thus beauty, by imprudent steps,
To sure destruction slowly creeps.
For she, when to that bevy's got in,
Takes much about three years to rot in.

The silent priest
We'll tell simple truth, and our story comes pat,
No matter if acted in this age or that.
Dear Friend, let us saunter to Baxterly church,
Where good Mr. D--left himself in the lurch;
For there the gay hearer will, sure as a gun,
Meet with a sweet morsal of high-season'd fun.

The pray'rs being ended, and no blunder made,
The Clerk his desk mounted--he well knew his trade;
Two staves out of Sternhold he struck up compleat,
While climbing the pulpit the Priest took his seat.
Now heav'nly music, a Clerk's highest boast,
Calm'd every breast, but the Vicar's the most.

The psalm being over, deep silence came next;
Not a single breath sounded, expecting the text;
But, to the surprize of the serious and gay,
The Vicar himself was as silent as they;
For he'd dropt to sleep, being drench'd with mild ale,
And dream'd of full bumpers, the last night's regale;
Or, rather, till five in the morning had hanker'd,
Before he could find the last drop in the tankard.

Now the congregation became rather wild,
They look'd at the Priest, at each other, and smil'd.
If a shepherd should fall fast asleep in the day,
No wonder his flock goes a little astray.
Then Moses look'd up--'Sir, we've done,' cried Amen;
The Priest, half awake, replied, 'Fill it agen.'