The Poetical Works of Elijah Fenton/The Widow's Wile
TALES.
THE WIDOW'S WILE.
A TALE.
Have you not seen (to state the case)Two wasps lie struggling in a glass?By the rich flavour of TokayAllur'd, about the brim they play;They light, they murmur, then begin 10To lick, and so at length slip in:Embracing close the couple lies,Together dip, together rise;You 'd swear they love, and yet they striveWhich shall be sunk, and which survive. 10Such feign'd amours and real hateAttend the matrimonial state,When sacred vows are bought and sold,And hearts are ty'd with threads of gold.A nymph there was, who (’tis averr'd 15By Fame) was born without a beard;A certain sign, the learn'd declare,That (guarded with uncommon care)Her virtue might remain at tenImpregnable to boys or men. 20But from that era we'll proceedTo find her in a widow's weed, Which all Love's chronicles agreeShe wore just turn'd of twenty-three:For an old sot she call'd her mate, 25For jewels, pin-money, and plate.The dame, possess'd of wealth and ease,Had no more appetites to please:That which provokes wild girls to wed,Fie!—it ne'er enter'd in her head. 30Yet some prolific planet smil'd,And gave the pair a chopping child,Entitled by the law to claim.Her husband's chattels and his name;But was so like his mother! she 35The queen of Love, her Cupid he.This matron fair for spouse deceas'dHad sorrow'd sore a week at least,And seem'd to grudge the worms that preyWhich had lain dead full many a day. 40From plays and balls she now refrain'd,To a dark room by custom chain'd,And not a male for love or gold,But the dear hopes of two years old.The maids, so long in prison pent, 45Ask leave to air; she gives consent;(For health is riches to the poor)But Tom must stay to guard the door.In reading Sherlock she'd employHer solitude, and tend the boy. 50 When Madam sees the coast is clear,Her spirits mantle and career;Diffusing ardour thro' her mien,Pity they should condense to spleen!But now by honour she 's confin'd, 55Who flutter'd once as free as wind,And on a masquerading mornBy six securely could return; Having to seal him safe till nineWith opium drugg'd her spouse's wine. 60This the gay world no worse would holdThan had she only chang'd his gold:The species answer'd all demands,And only pass'd thro' other hands.But honour now prescribes the law, 65The tyrant keeps her will in awe;And not a chitterling at home.For charity forbid to roamWhat! a large stomach and no meat!In pity, Love! provide a treat. 70Can widows feed on dreams and wishes,Like hags on visionary dishes?Impossible! thro' walls of stoneHunger will break to suck a bone.Want, oft' in times of old, we read, 75Made mothers on their infants feed,And now constrain'd this matron mildTo grow hard-hearted to her child. Her darling child she pinch'd; he squall'd;In haste the fav'rite footman 's call'd 80To pacify the peevish chit,For who but he could do the feat?He, smarting sore, refus'd to play,But bade man Thomas beat Mamma!She, laughing, soon avow'd her flame 85By various signs that want a name.The lacky saw, with trembling joy,Gay humour dancing in her eye,And straight, with equal fury fir'd,Began th' attack. The dame retir'd; 90And haply falling as she fled,He beat her till she lay for dead;But (with new vigour for the strife)Soon, with a sigh, return'd to life.Think ye she 'd e'er forgive her son 95For what the naughty man had done?She did; yet, spited with his pain,He sounds th' alarm to charge again.But, 'squire, consult your potent allyWhether he's yet prepar'd to rally—100Yes; blood is hot on either side;Another combat must be try'd.She knew the foe could do no moreThan at the first attack she bore;So at his little malice smil'd,And cry'd, "Come on!—to please the child." 106