Classic Poem

In Days of Yore, when Roman Rules
Prevail'd, and made poor Laymen Fools:
When wicked Priests could sell Salvation;
And safely cuckold half the Nation:
There liv'd (as ancient Annals teach)
A Wight, old, covetous, and rich — —
There liv'd? where liv'd? says one — at Tame —
Which rhimes to Rinald was his Name.

A Wife he had, with ev'ry Charm
That manly, vigorous Youth might warm:
But to this sapless Trunk confin'd,
By Parents' Choice, against her Mind,
She nor the least Delight could move;
Nor taste herself the Sweets of Love.

Three thousand Pounds at Ten per Cent .
Supply'd him with a handsome Rent;
Yet such a Niggard was this Wight,
He'd seldom spend his Pint at Night;
Nor knew he any Joy in Life
Much oft'ner — — than he did his Wife.

For Susan 's Part (so hight the Fair)
The Mode was her peculiar Care:
Now Dress, now Furniture she wanted:
Nor Dress, nor Furniture was granted.
House-keeping, Truth! was Charge enough;
He could not buy much Houshold-Stuff.
And whom had she to please but him;
That she, forsooth! must go so trim?

How could the Woman take it well?
No — — 'twas her Duty to rebel — —
Whate'er she could, she bought on Trust;
(Let Rinald grumble! pay he must)
So, when for Int'rest he was gone,
The Neighbours came; the Treat went on.

The rev'rend Doctor of the Parish,
(Some Faults the best of Men may cherish)
Was, if you took him all together,
As good as e'er trod Shoe of Leather.
To him the Dame repair'd at Easter — —
What then? why then the Priest confess'd her:
Then private Penance was enjoin'd:
And acted too — — to Madam's Mind.

Religion was a Thing that Susan
Had ne'er before took Time to muse on;
But learning now, from Rules of Art,
That Penance was it's harshest Part;
And finding that so great a Pleasure,
She grew religious, out of Measure.

And having gain'd sufficient Strength,
To carry Spite a Woman's Length;
She counted all her Husband's Crimes,
Of various Sorts, at divers Times;
And made a solemn Resolution,
To put Revenge in Execution.
Mere Cuckoldom should not suffice her —
He must be by, yet ne'er the wiser.

When People bear a willing Mind,
Occasion seldom lags behind.

The Terrors taught us by our Nurse,
As Reason fails, renew their Force:
Hence Rinald oft' conceiv'd a Fright,
From whisp'ring Wind, at dead of Night.
Sue takes the Hint; improves his Fears;
Nor Mouse, nor Spider, now she hears,
But, whip! she covers — Neck and Ears.
If Door or Window chance to clap;
Or, on Offender's Neck, the Trap;
'Twas some departed Soul returning!
All clad in white! with Taper burning!
Lord! how she cry'd, and wish'd for Morning!

It soon produc'd what Susan wanted,
Without Dispute the House was haunted.
Roger the Priest must come, and lay
The hellish Fiend, in burning Sea.
The Night was fix'd; they all prepare — —
Some say, the Devil was in Fear:
For Priests with Bell, and Book, and Candle,
Could then the Dcyil strangely handle.

'Tis very hard, in Prose or Rhime,
Well to describe the Flux of Time:
For this the Reader must allow;
And think th' appointed Ev'ning now.
Th' appointed Ev'ning brings the Rector;
Susan intreats him to protect her;
Rinaldo too, in piteous Fright,
Desires he'll make the Circle right.

He promis'd 'em to do his best:
Then this Harangue to both address'd.

My Friends, in order to proceed,
And make this Goblin go indeed,
'Tis fit we all keep ad Amussim :
You must lie down, and I must curse him.
Bind up your Eyes! nor stir, nor speak!
(One Fault, observe! the Charm will break)
So Heav'n receive you to Protection;
As you shall follow this Direction!

Rinaldo trembles, and agrees;
Then mutter'd something on his Knees:
But Sukey scream'd, a subtle Quean!
As tho' she had the Spirit seen:
Ev'n Roger scarcely could forbear
To drop a sympathetic Tear.

The chosen Room, one Story high,
Was where our Couple us'd to lie — —
Here Sue before had taken Care
A proper Spirit to prepare:
Who, least her Voice the Plot should ruin,
Was muzzled to prevent her Mewing.

They all ascend the magic Place;
The Help-mates bind each other's Face;
Then stretch themselves upon the Floor;
While Roger fastens up the Door.

The Circle made, the Priest begins;
And first, absolves 'em from their Sins:
Then stoutly Musters all his Forces,
Of Latin, Greek , hard Names, and Curses —
Abi , foul Fiend! in rubrum Mare — —
A hollow Voice reply'd, who are ye?
Then, at a thund'ring Word of Greek ,
The Closet Door was heard to squeak!
But when he spoke again in Latin ,
With solemn Tread, came Mistress Cat in!

Trembling and sweating as he lay,
Rinaldo wish'd (he durst not pray)
To die — — but in a nat'ral Way!
What happen'd now, Sue us'd to tell,
She could not see, but she could smell.

Here might my Epic Muse rehearse,
In figur'd Stile, and flowing Verse,
How, while the real Spirit mov'd,
The Priest and Sue their Time improv'd!
(The Beaux would laugh; the Ladies twitter;
Nor could the Criticks then be bitter!)
But, as the Scene at present lies,
Reason may dictate to the Wise,
What Love and Spite would prompt 'em to:
What, consequently, they must do.

The Moral of my Tale is clear — —
Let Sixty with Sixteen forbear
To seek those Joys it cannot share
Confessing tho' the Fair explode,
Intriguing always is the Mode;
Some Way your Wives must have their Fill;
For Women will be Women still.