Classic Poem

'Tis impossible to be aware of every Thing. A Tale.

Sir Jealous , who (says Fontaine ) kept
One Eye awake while t'other slept,
From Company restrain'd his Spouse;
And, for the Safety of his Brows,
Collected all the Female Wiles,
Their Ogles, Billet-deux, and Smiles,
Their Arts of slipping out from home,
And writ them in an ample Tome.

Poor Sot! When Love has form'd a League,
He's a mere Hydra at Intrigue.

Madam was all this while a Slave:
Alas! what Comfort could she have?
For Fondness he ev'n told her Hairs;
Nor trusted her about Affairs,
But with her, constant as her Shade,
Went an old Argus of a Maid.

His List the Fool believ'd compleat,
And hug'd himself in the Conceit;
It serv'd him both to read and rest on,
And Cuckoldom was out of Question.

One Holiday, it came to pass,
As home the Dame return'd from Mass,
Her Thoughts all Piety and Honour;
Out comes a Heap of Dirt upon her.

Was such an Accident e'er heard on?
Besure the People ask'd her Pardon!
She must go in, to make her clean,
For 'twas not fit she should be seen.
Another Petticoat she'll want — —
Home runs the faithful Governante,
To fetch her one. — — She finds my Master,
And, breath less, tells the whole Disaster.

The honest Man was Thunder-struck:
The Devil! 'Tis not in my Book — —
Gone in? Why then I know the worst:
So may the Catalogue be curs'd!

Rightly the Cuckold once opin'd:
This whole Adventure was design'd.
By disobliging Madam's Sute,
They sent the Dragon from the Fruit.
The Coast was clear; the Spark was ready;
And who more willing than the Lady?

Women that realy have a Mind
In vain are guarded, and confin'd.
You miss five Stratagems in ten ;
So burn your Catalogues, ye Men!
And leave to Providence your Pates,
There's no resisting People's Fates.