Part 21

So best, the spark replied, I like the deed; And, though no Gascon, I may boldly say; Superior prowess always I display. Perhaps 'twas otherwise, for ev'ry wight; In this, to play the Gascon, thinks it right.

To all the doctor's words our youth adhered, And presently within a church appeared, Where daily came the choicest belles around, And loves and graces in their train were found, Or, if 'tis wished in modern phrase to speak, Attention num'rous angels there would seek. Beneath their veils were beauteous sparkling eyes; The holy-water scarcely would suffice.

IN lucky spot the spark his station took, And gave to each that passed a plaintive look; To some he bowed; to others seemed to pray, And holy water offered on their way. One angel 'mong the rest the boon received, With easy pleasing air, that much relieved; On which the student to himself expressed, A fond belief, with her he might be blessed.

WHEN home, an aged female to him came, And soon a meeting place he heard her name. To count particulars howe'er were vain Their pranks were many, and their folly plain; The belle was handsome; ev'ry bliss was sought, And all their moments most delightful thought.

HE, to the doctor, ev'ry matter told Discretion in a Frenchman would be cold; 'Tis out of nature, and bespeaks the cit; Smells strong of shop, and would not fashion fit.

THE learned teacher satisfaction showed, That such success from his instructions flowed, Laughed heartily at husbands, silly wights, Who had not wit to guard connubial rights, And from their lamb the wily wolf to keep: A shepherd will o'erlook a hundred sheep, While foolish man's unable to protect, E'en one where most he'd wish to be correct. Howe'er, this care he thought was somewhat hard, But not a thing impossible to guard; And if he had not got a hundred eyes, Thank heav'n, his wife, though cunning to devise, He could defy:—her thoughts so well he knew, That these intrigues she never would pursue.

YOU'LL, ne'er believe, good reader, without shame, The doctor's wife was she our annals name; And what's still worse, so many things he asked, Her look, air, form, and secret charms unmasked, That ev'ry answer fully seemed to say, 'Twas clearly she, who thus had gone astray. One circumstance the lawyer led to doubt: Some talents had the student pointed out, Which she had never to her husband shown, And this relief administered alone. Thought he, those manners not to her belong, But all the rest are indications strong, And prove the case; yet she at home is dull; While this appears to be a prattling trull, And pleasing in her conversation too; In other matters 'tis my wife we view, Form, face, complexion, features, eyes, and hair, The whole combined pronounces her the fair.

AT length, when to himself the sage had said 'Tis she; and then, 'tis not;—his senses led To make him in the first opinion rest, You well may guess what rage was in his breast. A second meeting you have fixed? cried he; Yes, said the Frenchman, that was made with glee; We found the first so pleasing to our mind, That to another both were well inclined, And thoroughly resolved more fun to seek. That's right, replied the doctor, have your freak; The lady howsoe'er I now could name. The scholar answered, that to me's the same; I care not what she's called, Nor who she be: 'Tis quite enough that we so well agree. By this time I'm convinced her loving spouse. Possesses what an anchorite might rouse; And if a failure any where be met, At such a place to-morrow one may get, What I shall hope, exactly at the hour, To find resigned and fully in my pow'r:

IN bed I shall be instantly received, And from anxiety be soon relieved. The place of meeting is a room below, Most nicely furnished, rich, but void of show. At first I through a passage dark was led, Where Sol's bright rays are ne'er allowed to spread; But soon, by my conductress, I was brought, 'Mid LOVE'S delights, where all with charms was frought.

ON this you may suppose the doctor's pain; But presently he thought a point to gain, And take the student's place by wily art, Where, acting in disguise the lover's part, His rib he might entangle in a net, And vassalage bestow she'd ne'er forget. Our learned man was clearly in the wrong; 'Twere better far to sleep and hold his tongue; Unless, with God's assistance, he could raise A remedy that merited full praise. Whenever wives have got a candidate, To be admitted to the Cuckold's state, If thence he get scot free 'tis luck indeed; But once received, and ornaments decreed, A blot the more will surely nothing add, To one already in the garment clad. The doctor otherwise however thought; Yet still his reason no advantage brought; Indeed he fancied, if he could forestall The youth who now he might his master call; The trick would to his wisdom credit do, And show, superior wiles he could pursue.

AWAY the husband hastened to the place; In full belief, that, hiding well his face, And favoured by the darkness of the spot, The silence marked, and myst'ry of the plot, He, undiscovered, safely might be led, Where such delicious fruits were ready spread.

MISFORTUNE, howsoe'er, would so direct The aged female nothing to neglect, Had with her got a lantern to conduct, The light from which at will she could obstruct, And, far more cunning than our learned sage, Perceived at once with whom she had t'engage; But, marking no surprise, she bade him wait, While she, his coming, to her dame should state. Said she, unless I tell her first you're here, I dare not let you in her room appear. Besides, you have not got the right attire; Undressed, in truth, is what she would desire. My lady, you must know, is gone to bed:— Then, thrusting in a dressing room his head, He there beheld the necessary fare, Of night-cap, slippers, shirt, and combs for hair, With perfumes too, in Rome the nicest known, And fit for highest cardinals to own. His clothes the learned doctor laid aside; The aged female came his steps to guide; Through passages she led him by the hand, Where all was dark, and many turnings planned; At once bewildered, and deprived of sight, The lawyer tottered much for want of light. At length she ope'd a door, and pushed the sage, Where most unpleasantly he must engage, Though doubtless ev'ry way his proper place:— The school where he was used the LAWS to trace! O'ercome with shame, confusion, and surprise, He nearly fainted, vain 'twere to disguise.

THE circumstances ran throughout the town; Each student then was waiting in his gown; Enough, no doubt, his fortunes to destroy; The laugh went round, and all was jest and joy. What, is he mad? said they, or would he seek Some lass, and with her wish to have a freak? Still worse arrived:—his beauteous spouse complained; A trial followed, and distractions reigned; Her relatives supported well the cause, And represented, that the MAN of LAWS, Occasioned jars and matrimonial strife; That he was mad, and she, a prudent wife, The marriage was annulled, and she withdrew: Retirement now the lady would pursue, In Vavoureuse a prelate blessed the dame, And, at Saint Croissant, she a nun became.

THE DEVIL IN HELL

HE surely must be wrong who loving fears; And does not flee when beauty first appears. Ye FAIR, with charms divine, I know your fame; No more I'll burn my fingers in the flame. From you a soft sensation seems to rise, And, to the heart, advances through the eyes; What there it causes I've no need to tell: Some die of love, or languish in the spell. Far better surely mortals here might do; There's no occasion dangers to pursue. By way of proof a charmer I will bring, Whose beauty to a hermit gave the sting: Thence, save the sin, which fully I except; A very pleasant intercourse was kept; Except the sin, again I must repeat, My sentiments on this will never meet The taste of him at Rome, who wine had swilled, Till, to the throat, he thoroughly was filled, And then exclaimed, is't not a sin to drink? Such conduct horrid ever I shall think; I wish to prove, e'en saints in fear should live; The truth is clear:—our faults may Heav'n forgive; If dread of punishment, from pow'rs divine, Had led this friar in the proper line, He never had the charming girl retained, Who, young and artless, would your heart have gained.

HER name was Alibech, if I recollect; Too innocent, deceptions to detect. One day this lovely maiden having read, How certain pious, holy saints were led, The better to observe religious care, To seek retirement in some lorn repair, Where they, like Heav'nly Angels, moved around, Some here, some there, were in concealment found, Was quite delighted, strange as it may seem, And presently she formed the frantick scheme, Of imitating those her mind revered, And to her plan most rigidly adhered.

WITH silent steps the innocent withdrew; To mothers, sisters,—none she bade adieu. Long time she walked through fields, and plain, and dale; At length she gained a wood within a vale; There met an aged man, who once might be, Gay, airy, pleasing, blithe, gallant, and free, But now a meagre skeleton was seen The shadow only of what late he'd been: Said she, good father, I have much desire To be a saint: thither my hopes aspire; I fain would merit reverence and prayer, A festival have kept with anxious care; What pleasure, ev'ry year, the palm in hand, And, beaming round the head, a holy band, Nice presents, flow'rs, and off'rings to receive Your practice difficult must I believe? Already I can fast for many days, And soon should learn to follow all your ways. Go, said the aged man, your plan resign; I'd have you, as a friend, the state decline; 'Tis not so easy sanctity to meet, That fasting should suffice the boon to greet. Heav'n guards from ill the maids and wives who fast, Or holiness would very seldom last. 'Tis requisite to practise other things; These secrets are, which move by hidden springs; A hermit, whom you'll find beneath yon' beech,

Can, better far than I, their virtues teach; Go, seek him, pray, make haste if you are sage; I ne'er retain such birds within my cage. This having said, at once he left the belle, And wisely shut the door, and barred his cell: Not trusting hair-cloth, fasting, age, nor gout; With beauty, anchorites themselves should doubt.

OUR pensive fair soon found the person meant, A man whose soul was on religion bent; His name was Rustick, young and warm in prayer; Such youthful hermits of deception share. Her holy wish, the girl to him expressed, A wish most fervent doubtless to be blessed, And felt so strongly, Alibech had fear, Some day the mark might on her fruit appear.

A SMILE her innocence from Rustick drew; Said he, in me you little learning view; But what I've got, I'll readily divide, And nothing from your senses try to hide.

THE hermit surely would have acted right; Such pupil to have sent away at sight. He managed otherwise, as we shall state; The consequences, let us now relate.

SINCE much he wished perfection to pursue; He, to himself, exclaimed: what can'st thou do? Watch, fast, and pray; wear hair-cloth too; but this Is surely little that will lead to bliss; All do as much, but with a FAIR to dwell, And, never touch her, would be to excel; 'Twere triumph 'mong the Heav'nly Angels thought; Let's merit it, and keep what here is brought; If I resist a thing so sweet and kind, I gain the end that pow'rs divine designed.

HE with him let the charming belle remain; And confident he could at will abstain, Both Satan and the flesh at once defied: Two foes on mischief ready to decide.

BEHOLD our saints together in a hut; Young Rustick, where a corner seemed to jut; A bed of rushes for the novice placed, Since sleeping on the floor had her debased, Who, yet unused to hardships, much must feel: 'Twas best that these should on her senses steal. A little fruit, and bread not over fine, She had for supper:—water too for wine. The hermit fasted; but the lady fed, And ate with appetite her fruit and bread.

APART their place of rest, the maiden slept, But something quite awake the other kept: The Devil could by no means quiet rest, Till he should get admitted as a guest. He was received within the humble cell; The friar's thoughts were on his smiling belle, Her simple manners, fascinating grace, Complexion, age; each feature he would trace; The heaving bosom, and the beauteous charms; That made him wish to clasp her in his arms.

BY passion moved, he bade at once adieu, To hair-cloth, discipline, and fasting too; Cried he, my saints are these; to them I'll pray; From Alibech no longer he would stay, But to her flew, and roused the girl from sleep: Said he, so soon you should not silence keep, It is not right:—there's something to be done, Ere we suspend the converse we've begun: 'Tis proper that, to please the pow'rs divine; We Satan instantly in Hell confine; He was created for no other end; To block him up let's ev'ry effort lend.

IMMEDIATELY within the bed he slid, When, scarcely knowing what young Rustick did; And, unaccustomed to the mystick scene, She knew not what the anchorite could mean, Nor this nor that but, partly by consent, And partly force, yet wishing to prevent, Though not presuming to resist his sway To him 'mid pain and pleasure, she gave way, Believing ev'ry thing was most exact, And, what the saint performed, a gracious act, By thus the Devil shutting up in Hell, Where he was destined with his imps to dwell.

HENCEFORTH 'twas requisite, if saint she'd be; From martyrdom she must not think to flee, For friar Rustick little sought to please: The lesson was not given quite at ease, Which made the girl (not much improved in wit) Exclaim, this Devil mischief will commit; 'Tis very plain, though strange it may appear To hurt his prison e'en he'll persevere; The injury now you clearly may perceive; But, for the evil done, I shall not grieve: Yet richly he deserves to be again Shut up effectually in his domain.

IT shall be so, the anchorite replied; Once more the mystick art was fully tried; Such care he took, such charity was shown, That Hell, by use, free with the Devil grown, His presence pleasant always would have found; Could Rustick equally have kept his ground.

CRIED Alibech, 'tis very truly said, No prison has so nice and soft a bed, But presently the host will weary grow; And here our pair soon discord seemed to show: Hell, for the prisoner, in vain inquired; Deaf was the fiend, and quietly retired; Repeated calls of course must irksome prove: The fair grew weary, when he would not move; Her strong desire to be a saint declined; And Rustick to get rid of her designed; In this with him the belle agreed so well, That secretly she left the hermit's cell, And home returned in haste the shortest way; But what the fair could to her parents say, Is what I fain would know, though truly yet; The full particulars I ne'er could get. 'Tis probable she made them understand, Her heart was prompted by divine command; To try to be a saint; that they believed, Or seemingly for truth the tale received. Perhaps the parents were not quite exact, In narrowly examining the fact; Though some suspicions doubtless might arise About her Hell, they could not well disguise; But 'tis so formed that little can be seen, And many jailors in it duped have been.

FOR Alibech great feasting was prepared, When, through simplicity, the girl declared, To those around, without the least restraint, How she had acted to be made a saint. You'd surely no occasion, they replied, To go so far instruction to provide, When at your house you might have had, with ease, Like secret lectures, just as you should please. Said one, my brother could the thing have done; Another cried,—my cousin would have run To do the same; or Neherbal, who's near, No novice in the business would appear; He seeks your hand, which you'll be wise to take Before he learns—what might a diff'rence make. She took the hint, and he the fair received; A handsome fortune many fears relieved; This joined to num'rous charms that had the belle; He fancied pure a most suspicious Hell, And freely used the blessings Hymen sends; May Heav'n like joys bestow on all our friends!

NEIGHBOUR PETER'S MARE

A CERTAIN pious rector (John his name), But little preached, except when vintage came; And then no preparation he required On this he triumphed and was much admired. Another point he handled very well, Though oft'ner he'd thereon have liked to dwell, And this the children of the present day, So fully know, there's naught for me to say: John to the senses things so clearly brought, That much by wives and husbands he was sought, Who held his knowledge of superior price, And paid attention to his sage advice. Around, whatever conscience he might find, To soft delights and easy ways inclined, In person he would rigidly attend, And seek to act the confessor and friend; Not e'en his curate would he trust with these; But zealously he tried to give them ease, And ev'ry where would due attention show, Observing that divines should always know Their flocks most thoroughly and visit round; To give instruction and the truth expound.

AMONG the folks, to whom he visits paid, Was neighbour Peter, one who used the spade; A villager that God, in lieu of lands, Had furnished only with a pair of hands, To dig and delve, and by the mattock gain Enough his wife and children to maintain. Still youthful charms you in his spouse might trace; The weather injured solely had her face, But not the features which were perfect yet: Some wish perhaps more blooming belles to get; The rustick truly me would ne'er have pleased; But such are oft by country parsons seized, Who low amours and dishes coarse admire, That palates more refined would not desire.

THE pastor John would often on her leer, just as a cur, when store of bones are near, That would good pickings for his teeth afford, Attentively behold the precious hoard, And seem uneasy; move his feet and tail; Now prick his ears; then fear he can't prevail, The eyes still fixed upon the bite in sight, Which twenty times to these affords delight, Ere to his longing jaws the boon arrives, However anxiously the suitor strives.

SELF-TORMENTS solely parson John obtained; By seeing her that o'er his senses reigned. The village-wife was innocent of this, And never dreamed of any thing amiss; The pastor's mystick looks, nor flatt'ring ways; Nor presents, aught in Magdalene could raise; But nosegays made of thyme, and marj'ram too, Were dropt on ground, or never kept in view; A hundred little cares appeared as naught 'Twas Welch to her, and ne'er conveyed a thought. A pleasant stratagem he now contrived, From which, he hoped, success might be derived.

MOST clearly Peter was a heavy lout, Yet truly I could never have a doubt, That rashly he would ne'er himself commit, Though folly 'twere from him to look for wit, Or aught expect by questioning to find 'Yond this to reason, he was not designed.

THE rector to him said, thou'rt poor, my friend, And hast not half enough for food to spend, With other things that necessary prove, If we below with comfort wish to move. Some day I'll show thee how thou may'st procure The means that will thy happiness insure, And make thee feel contented as a king. To me what present for it wilt thou bring?

ZOOKS! Peter answered, parson, I desire, You'll me direct to do as you require; My labour pray command; 'tis all I've got; Our pig howe'er to you we can allot, We want it not; and truly it has eat More bran than thrice this vessel would complete; The cow you'll take besides, from which my wife A calf expects, to raise the means of life. No, no, the pastor with a smile replied, A recompense for this thou'lt not provide; My neighbour to oblige is all I heed; And now I'll tell thee how thou must proceed; Thy spouse, by magick, I'll transform each day, And turn her to a mare for cart or dray, And then again restore her ev'ry night, To human form to give thy heart delight. From this to thee great profit will arise; Thy ass, so slow is found, that when supplies, It carries to the market, 'tis so late, The hour is almost past ere at the gate, And then thy cabbages, and herbs, and roots, Provisions, provender, and wares and fruits, Remain unsold, and home to spoil are brought, Since rarely far from thence such things are sought. But when thy wife's a mare, she'll faster go: Strong, active, ev'ry way her worth she'll show, And home will come without expense in meat: No soup nor bread, but solely herbs she'll eat: