“None are so deaf as those who will not hear;” And, by the same good logic, we shall find, “As those who will not see, are none so blind.” The thankful Wife repaid th’ attention shown, 110 But now would make the duty all her own. Again the gout return’d; but, seizing now A vital part, would no relief allow. The Husband died, but left a will that proved He much respected whom he coolly loved. All power was hers; nor yet was such her age But rivals strove her favour to engage. They talk’d of love with so much warmth and zeal, That they believed the woman’s heart must feel; Adding such praises of her worth beside, 120 As vanquish prudence oft by help of pride. In vain! her heart was by discretion led— She to the children of her Friend was wed; These she establish’d in the world, and died, In ease and hope, serene and satisfied. And loves not man that woman who can charm Life’s grievous ills, and grief itself disarm; Who in his fears and troubles brings him aid, And seldom is, and never seems, afraid? No! ask of man the fair one whom he loves: 130 You’ll find her one of the desponding doves, Who tender troubles as her portion brings, And with them fondly to a husband clings— Who never moves abroad, nor sits at home, Without distress, past, present, or to come— Who never walks the unfrequented street, Without a dread that death and she shall meet: At land, on water, she must guarded be, Who sees the danger none besides her see, And is determined by her cries to call 140 All men around her: she will have them all. Man loves to think the tender being lives But by the power that his protection gives: He loves the feeble step, the plaintive tone, And flies to help who cannot stand alone; He thinks of propping elms and clasping vines, And in her weakness thinks her virtue shines; On him not one of her desires is lost, And he admires her for this care and cost. But, when afflictions come, when beauty dies, 150 Or sorrows vex the heart, or danger tries— When time of trouble brings the daily care, And gives of pain as much as he can bear: ’Tis then he wants, if not the helping hand, At least a soothing temper, meek and bland; He wants the heart that shares in his distress— At least, the kindness that would make it less; And when, instead, he hears th’ eternal grief For some light want, and not for his relief— And when he hears the tender trembler sigh 160 For some indulgence he cannot supply— When, in the midst of many a care, his “dear” Would like a duchess at a ball appear, And, while he feels a weight that wears him down, Would see the prettiest sight in all the town— Love then departs; and, if some Pity lives, That Pity half despises, half forgives; ’Tis join’d with grief, is not from shame exempt, And has a plenteous mixture of contempt. TALE XV.