A woman stops at nothing when she wears Rich emeralds round her neck, and in her ears Pearls of enormous size; these justify Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye. Sure, of all ills with which mankind are cursed, A wife who brings you money is the worst. Behold! her face a spectacle appears, Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears With viscous paste. The husband looks askew, And sticks his lips in this detested glue. She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and dressed, But rots in filth at home, a very pest! For him she breathes of nard; for him alone She makes the sweets of Araby her own; For him, at length, she ventures to uncase, Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face, And, while the maids to know her now begin, Clears, with that precious milk, her muddy skin For which, though exiled to the frozen main, She’d lead a drove of asses in her train! But tell me now: this thing, thus daubed and oiled, Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled, Thus with pomatums, ointments, lacquered o’er-- Is it a face, pray tell me, or a sore? --_Satires._ _ON DOMINEERING WIVES_ Now tell me, if thou canst not love a wife, Made thine by every tie, and thine for life, Why wed at all? Why waste the wine and cakes The queasy-stomached guest at parting takes, And the rich present, which the bridal right Claims for the favors of the happy night, The charger, where, triumphantly inscrolled, The Dacian Hero shines in current gold? If thou canst love, and thy besotted mind Is so uxoriously to _one_ inclined, Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air Receive the yoke thou must forever wear. To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows; Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his wos, And triumphs in his spoils; her wayward will Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill. Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught, If she opposes, must be sold or bought; She tells him where to love, and where to hate; Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate Knew from its downy to its hoary state; And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees, Have power to will their fortunes as they please, She dictates his, and impudently dares To name his very rivals for his heirs. “Go, crucify that slave!” “For what offense? Who the accuser? Where the evidence? For when the life of man is in debate, No time can be too long, no care too great. Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise--” “Thou sniveler! Is a slave a man?” she cries. “He’s innocent!” “Be’t so; ’tis my command, My will. Let that, sir, for a reason stand.” Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns. Anon she sickens of her first domains,