Think not I dote; 'tis time to take a wife, When vigorous blood forbids a chaster life: Those that are bless'd with store of grace divine, May live like saints, by Heaven's consent and mine!

'And since I speak of wedlock, let me say (As, thank my stars, in modest truth I may), My limbs are active, still I'm sound at heart, And a new vigour springs in every part. 130 Think not my virtue lost, though time has shed These reverend honours on my hoary head: Thus trees are crown'd with blossoms white as snow, The vital sap then rising from below.

Old as I am, my lusty limbs appear Like winter greens, that flourish all the year.

Now, sirs, you know to what I stand inclined, Let every friend with freedom speak his mind.'

He said; the rest in different parts divide; The knotty point was urged on either side: 140 Marriage, the theme on which they all declaim'd, Some praised with wit, and some with reason blamed.

Till, what with proofs, objections, and replies, Each wondrous positive and wondrous wise, There fell between his brothers a debate: Placebo this was call'd, and Justin that.

First to the knight Placebo thus begun, (Mild were his looks, and pleasing was his tone): 'Such prudence, sir, in all your words appears, As plainly proves experience dwells with years! 150 Yet you pursue sage Solomon's advice, To work by counsel when affairs are nice: But, with the wise man's leave, I must protest, So may my soul arrive at ease and rest, As still I hold your own advice the best.

'Sir, I have lived a courtier all my days, And studied men, their manners, and their ways; And have observed this useful maxim still.

To let my betters always have their will.

Nay, if my lord affirm'd that black was white, 160 My word was this, "Your honour's in the right."

Th' assuming wit, who deems himself so wise As his mistaken patron to advise, Let him not dare to vent his dangerous thought; A noble fool was never in a fault.

This, sir, affects not you, whose every word Is weigh'd with judgment, and befits a lord: Your will is mine: and is (I will maintain) Pleasing to God, and should be so to man; At least your courage all the world must praise, 170 Who dare to wed in your declining days.

Indulge the vigour of your mounting blood, And let gray fools be indolently good, Who, past all pleasure, damn the joys of sense, With reverend dulness and grave impotence.'

Justin, who silent sate, and heard the man, Thus with a philosophic frown began:

'A heathen author, of the first degree, (Who, though not faith, had sense as well as we), Bids us be certain our concerns to trust 180 To those of generous principles and just.

The venture's greater, I'll presume to say, To give your person, than your goods away: And therefore, sir, as you regard your rest, First learn your lady's qualities at least: Whether she's chaste or rampant, proud or civil, Meek as a saint, or haughty as the devil; Whether an easy, fond, familiar fool, Or such a wit as no man e'er can rule.

'Tis true, perfection none must hope to find 190 In all this world, much less in womankind: But if her virtues prove the larger share, Bless the kind fates, and think your fortune rare.

Ah, gentle sir, take warning of a friend, Who knows too well the state you thus commend; And, spite of all his praises, must declare, All he can find is bondage, cost, and care.

Heaven knows I shed full many a private tear, And sigh in silence, lest the world should hear; While all my friends applaud my blissful life, 200 And swear no mortal's happier in a wife; Demure and chaste as any vestal nun, The meekest creature that beholds the sun!

But, by th' immortal powers, I feel the pain, And he that smarts has reason to complain.

Do what you list, for me; you must be sage, And cautious sure; for wisdom is in age: But at these years to venture on the fair!

By Him who made the ocean, earth, and air, To please a wife, when her occasions call, 210 Would busy the most vigorous of us all.

And trust me, sir, the chastest you can choose, Will ask observance, and exact her dues.

If what I speak my noble lord offend, My tedious sermon here is at an end.'

''Tis well, 'tis wondrous well,' the knight replies, 'Most worthy kinsman, faith, you're mighty wise!

We, sirs, are fools; and must resign the cause To heathenish authors, proverbs, and old saws.'

He spoke with scorn, and turn'd another way: 220 'What does my friend, my dear Placebo, say?'

'I say,' quoth he, 'by Heaven, the man's to blame, To slander wives, and wedlock's holy name.'

At this the council rose without delay; Each, in his own opinion, went his way; With full consent, that, all disputes appeased, The knight should marry when and where he pleased.

Who now but January exults with joy?

The charms of wedlock all his soul employ: Each nymph by turns his wavering mind possess'd, 230 And reign'd the short-lived tyrant of his breast; Whilst fancy pictured every lively part, And each bright image wander'd o'er his heart.

Thus, in some public forum fix'd on high, A mirror shows the figures moving by; Still one by one, in swift succession, pass The gliding shadows o'er the polish'd glass.

This lady's charms the nicest could not blame, But vile suspicions had aspersed her fame; That was with sense, but not with virtue bless'd; 240 And one had grace that wanted all the rest.

Thus doubting long what nymph he should obey He fix'd at last upon the youthful May.

Her faults he knew not, love is always blind, But every charm revolved within his mind: Her tender age, her form divinely fair, Her easy motion, her attractive air, Her sweet behaviour, her enchanting face, Her moving softness, and majestic grace.

Much in his prudence did our knight rejoice, 250 And thought no mortal could dispute his choice: Once more in haste he summon'd every friend, And told them all their pains were at an end.

'Heaven, that (said he) inspired me first to wed, Provides a consort worthy of my bed: Let none oppose th' election, since on this Depends my quiet and my future bliss.

'A dame there is, the darling of my eyes, Young, beauteous, artless, innocent, and wise; Chaste, though not rich; and, though not nobly born, 260 Of honest parents, and may serve my turn.

Her will I wed, if gracious Heaven so please, To pass my age in sanctity and ease; And, thank the powers, I may possess alone The lovely prize, and share my bliss with none!

If you, my friends, this virgin can procure, My joys are full, my happiness is sure.

'One only doubt remains: full oft, I've heard By casuists grave, and deep divines averr'd, That 'tis too much for human race to know 270 The bliss of heaven above and earth below; Now, should the nuptial pleasures prove so great, To match the blessings of the future state, Those endless joys were ill exchanged for these; Then clear this doubt, and set my mind at ease.'

This Justin heard, nor could his spleen control, Touch'd to the quick, and tickled at the soul.

'Sir knight,' he cried, 'if this be all you dread, Heaven put it past your doubt whene'er you wed: And to my fervent prayers so far consent, 280 That, ere the rites are o'er, you may repent!

Good Heaven, no doubt, the nuptial state approves, Since it chastises still what best it loves.

Then be not, sir, abandoned to despair: Seek, and perhaps you'll find among the fair One that may do your business to a hair; Not e'en in wish your happiness delay, But prove the scourge to lash you on your way: Then to the skies your mounting soul shall go, Swift as an arrow soaring from the bow! 290 Provided still, you moderate your joy, Nor in your pleasures all your might employ; Let reason's rule your strong desires abate, Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate Old wives there are, of judgment most acute, Who solve these questions beyond all dispute; Consult with those, and be of better cheer; Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear.'

So said, they rose, nor more the work delay'd The match was offer'd, the proposals made. 300 The parents, you may think, would soon comply The old have interest ever in their eye.

Nor was it hard to move the lady's mind; When fortune favours, still the fair are kind.

I pass each previous settlement and deed, Too long for me to write, or you to read; Nor will with quaint impertinence display The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array.

The time approach'd; to church the parties went, At once with carnal and devout intent: 310 Forth came the priest, and bade the obedient wife Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life; Then pray'd the powers the fruitful bed to bless, And made all sure enough with holiness.

And now the palace gates are open'd wide, The guests appear in order, side by side, And, placed in state, the bridegroom and the bride.

The breathing flute's soft notes are heard around, And the shrill trumpets mix their silver sound; The vaulted roofs with echoing music ring, 320 These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling string.

Not thus Amphion tuned the warbling lyre, Nor Joab the sounding clarion could inspire, Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain Could swell the soul to rage, and fire the martial train.

Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace, (So poets sing) was present on the place: And lovely Venus, goddess of delight, Shook high her flaming torch in open sight, And danced around, and smiled on every knight: 330 Pleased her best servant would his courage try, No less in wedlock than in liberty.

Full many an age old Hymen had not spied So kind a bridegroom, or so bright a bride.

Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song, Think not your softest numbers can display The matchless glories of this blissful day; The joys are such as far transcend your rage, When tender youth has wedded stooping age. 340

The beauteous dame sat smiling at the board, And darted amorous glances at her lord.

Not Hester's self, whose charms the Hebrews sing, E'er look'd so lovely on her Persian king: Bright as the rising sun in summer's day, And fresh and blooming as the month of May!

The joyful knight survey'd her by his side, Nor envied Paris with his Spartan bride: Still as his mind revolved with vast delight Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night, 350 Restless he sat, invoking every power To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour.

Meantime the vigorous dancers beat the ground, And songs were sung, and flowing bowls went round.

With odorous spices they perfumed the place, And mirth and pleasure shone in every face.

Damian alone, of all the menial train, Sad in the midst of triumphs, sigh'd for pain; Damian alone, the knight's obsequious squire, Consumed at heart, and fed a secret fire. 360 His lovely mistress all his soul possess'd, He look'd, he languish'd, and could take no rest: His task perform'd, he sadly went his way, Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day: There let him lie; till his relenting dame Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.

The weary sun, as learned poets write, Forsook th' horizon, and roll'd down the light; While glittering stars his absent beams supply.

And night's dark mantle overspread the sky. 370 Then rose the guests, and, as the time required, Each paid his thanks, and decently retired.

The foe once gone, our knight prepared t' undress, So keen he was, and eager to possess; But first thought fit th' assistance to receive, Which grave physicians scruple not to give: Satyrion near, with hot eringoes stood, Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood, Whose use old bards describe in luscious rhymes, And critics learn'd explain to modern times. 380

By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd, The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd.

What next ensued beseems not me to say; 'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day, Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light, As all were nothing he had done by night, And sipp'd his cordial as he sat upright.

He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play, And feebly sung a lusty roundelay: Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast; 390 For every labour must have rest at last.

But anxious cares the pensive squire oppress'd, Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forsook his breast; The raging flames that in his bosom dwell, He wanted art to hide, and means to tell: Yet hoping time th' occasion might betray, Composed a sonnet to the lovely May; Which, writ and folded with the nicest art, He wrapp'd in silk, and laid upon his heart.

When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400 ('Twas June, and Cancer had received the sun), Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride; The good old knight moved slowly by her side.

High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall; The servants round stood ready at their call The squire alone was absent from the board, And much his sickness grieved his worthy lord, Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train, To visit Damian, and divert his pain.

Th' obliging dames obey'd with one consent: 410 They left the hall, and to his lodging went.

The female tribe surround him as he lay, And close beside him sat the gentle May: Where, as she tried his pulse, he softly drew A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view!

Then gave his bill, and bribed the Powers divine With secret vows, to favour his design.

Who studies now but discontented May?

On her soft couch uneasily she lay: 420 The lumpish husband snored away the night, Till coughs awaked him near the morning light.