Rich, fair, and fruitful, of unblemished life; } Chaste as the Sabines, whose prevailing charms, Dismissed their husbands' and their brothers' arms; Grant her, besides, of noble blood, that ran In ancient veins, ere heraldry began; Suppose all these, and take a poet's word, A black swan is not half so rare a bird. A wife, so hung with virtues, such a freight, What mortal shoulders could support the weight! Some country girl, scarce to a curtsey bred, Would I much rather than Cornelia[114] wed; If supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain, She brought her father's triumphs in her train. Away with all your Carthaginian state; } Let vanquished Hannibal without doors wait, } Too burly, and too big, to pass my narrow gate. } O Pæan! cries Amphion,[115] bend thy bow } Against my wife, and let my children go!-- } But sullen Pæan shoots at sons and mothers too. } His Niobe and all his boys he lost; Even her, who did her numerous offspring boast, As fair and fruitful as the sow that carried The thirty pigs, at one large litter farrowed.[116] What beauty, or what chastity, can bear So great a price, if, stately and severe, She still insults, and you must still adore? Grant that the honey's much, the gall is more. Upbraided with the virtues she displays, Seven hours in twelve you loath the wife you praise. Some faults, though small, intolerable grow; For what so nauseous and affected too, As those that think they due perfection want, Who have not learnt to lisp the Grecian cant?[117] In Greece, their whole accomplishments they seek: Their fashion, breeding, language, must be Greek; But, raw in all that does to Rome belong, They scorn to cultivate their mother-tongue. In Greek they flatter, all their fears they speak; Tell all their secrets; nay, they scold in Greek: Even in the feat of love, they use that tongue. Such affectations may become the young; But thou, old hag, of three score years and three, Is showing of thy parts in Greek for thee? #Zôê kai psychê!# All those tender words The momentary trembling bliss affords; The kind soft murmurs of the private sheets Are bawdy, while thou speak'st in public streets. Those words have fingers; and their force is such, They raise the dead, and mount him with a touch. But all provocatives from thee are vain; No blandishment the slackened nerve can strain. If then thy lawful spouse thou canst not love, What reason should thy mind to marriage move? Why all the charges of the nuptial feast, Wine and deserts, and sweet-meats to digest? The endowing gold that buys the dear delight, Given for thy first and only happy night?