WHAT, What is Marriage? Harris, Priscian,
Assist me with a definition.-
"Oh!" cries a charming silly fool,
Emerging from her boarding-school-
"Marriage is-love without disguises,
It is a something that arises
From raptures and from stolen glances,
To be the end of all romances;
Vows-quarrels-moonshine-babes-but hush!
I mustn't have you see me blush."
"Pshaw!" says a modern modish wife,
Marriage is splendour, fashion, life;
A house in town, and villa shady,
Balls, diamond bracelets, and 'my lady;'
Then for finale, angry words,
'Some people's—' obstinate 's—' absurd!'s
And peevish hearts, and silly heads,
And oaths, and 'bête's, and separate beds."
An aged bachelor, whose life
Has just been sweetened with a wife,
Tells out the latent grievance thus:
Marriage is-odd! for one of us
'Tis worse a mile than rope or tree,
Hemlock, or sword, or slavery;
An end at once to all our ways,
Dismission to the one-horse chaise ;
Adieu to Sunday can, and pig,
Adieu to wine, and whist, and wig ;
Our friends turn out,—our wife's are clapt in; 'Tis 'exit Crony,'-' enter Captain.'
Then hurry in a thousand thorns,—
Quarrels, and compliments,—and horns.
This is the yoke, and I must wear it ;
Marriage is-hell, or something near it!"
"Why, marriage," says an exquisite,
Sick from the supper of last night,
Marriage is after one by me!
I promised Tom to ride at three.-
Marriage is 'gad! I'm rather late;
La Fleur-my stays! and chocolate!—
Marriage is really, though, 'twas hard
To lose a thousand on a card;
Sink the old Duchess !-three revokes !
'Gad! I must fell the Abbey oaks :
Mary has lost a thousand more!—
Marriage is 'gad! a cursed bore!"
Hymen, who hears the blockheads groan,
Rises indignant from his throne,
And mocks their self-reviling tears,
And whispers thus in Folly's ears :
"O frivolous of heart and head!
If strifes infest your nuptial bed,
Not Hymen's hand, but guilt and sin,
Fashion and folly, force them in ;
If on your couch is seated Care,
I did not bring the scoffer there;
If Hymen's torch is feebler grown,
The hand that quenched it was your own;
And what I am, unthinking elves,
Ye all have made me for yourselves!"
Ar the last hour of Fannia's rout,
When Dukes walked in, and lamps went out,
Fair Chloe sat; a sighing crowd
Of high adorers round her bowed,
And ever flattery's incense rose
To lull the idol to repose.
Sudden some Gnome that stood unseen,
Or lurked disguised in mortal mien,
Whispered in Beauty's trembling ear
The word of bondage and of fear-
"Marriage !"-her lips their silence broke,
And smiled on Vapid as they spoke,-
"I hate a drunkard or a lout,
I hate the sullens and the gout;
If e'er I wed-let danglers know it—
I wed with no one but a poet."
And who but feels a poet's fire
When Chloe's smiles, as now, inspire?
Who can the bidden verse refuse
When Chloe is his theme and Muse?
Thus Flattery whispered round;
And straight the humorous fancy grew,
That lyres are sweet when hearts are true;
And all who feel a lover's flame
Must rhyme to-night on Chloe's name;
And he's unworthy of the dame
Who silent here is found.
Since head must plead the cause of heart. Some put their trust in answer smart
Or pointed repartee;
Some joy that they have hoarded up
Those genii of the jovial cup,
Chorus, and catch, and glee;
And for one evening all prepare
To be "Apollo's chiefest care."
Then Vapid rose-no Stentor this,
And his no Homer's lay;
Meek victim of antithesis,
He sighed and died away :-
"Despair my sorrowing bosom rives,
And anguish on me lies;
Chloe may die, while Vapid lives,
Or live while Vapid dies!
You smile!-the horrid vision flies,
And Hope this promise gives;
I cannot live while Chloe dies,
Nor die while Chloe lives!"
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