That he, to wedlock dotingly betrayed, Should hope, in this lewd town, to find a maid!-- The man's grown mad! to ease his frantic pain, Run for the surgeon, breathe the middle vein; But let a heifer, with gilt horns, be led To Juno, regent of the marriage-bed; And let him every deity adore, } If his new bride prove not an arrant whore, } In head, and tail, and every other pore. } On Ceres' feast,[109] restrained from their delight, Few matrons there, but curse the tedious night; Few whom their fathers dare salute, such lust Their kisses have, and come with such a gust. With ivy now adorn thy doors, and wed; Such is thy bride, and such thy genial bed. Think'st thou one man is for one woman meant? She sooner with one eye would be content. And yet, 'tis noised, a maid did once appear In some small village, though fame says not where. 'Tis possible; but sure no man she found; 'Twas desart all about her father's ground. And yet some lustful God might there make bold; Are Jove and Mars grown impotent and old? Many a fair nymph has in a cave been spread, And much good love without a feather-bed. Whither would'st thou, to chuse a wife, resort, The park, the mall, the playhouse, or the court? Which way soever thy adventures fall, Secure alike of chastity in all. One sees a dancing-master capering high, And raves, and pisses, with pure extacy; Another does with all his motions move, And gapes, and grins, as in the feat of love; A third is charmed with the new opera notes, Admires the song, but on the singer dotes. The country lady in the box appears, } Softly she warbles over all she hears, } And sucks in passion both at eyes and ears. } The rest (when now the long vacation's come, The noisy hall and theatres grown dumb) Their memories to refresh, and cheer their hearts, In borrowed breeches, act the players' parts. The poor, that scarce have wherewithal to eat, Will pinch, to make the singing-boy a treat; The rich, to buy him, will refuse no price, And stretch his quail-pipe, till they crack his voice. Tragedians, acting love, for lust are sought, Though but the parrots of a poet's thought. The pleading lawyer, though for counsel used, In chamber-practice often is refused. Still thou wilt have a wife, and father heirs, The product of concurring theatres. Perhaps a fencer did thy brows adorn, And a young swordsman to thy lands is born. Thus Hippia loathed her old patrician lord, And left him for a brother of the sword. To wondering Pharos[110] with her love she fled, To show one monster more than Afric bred;