He wore no wig, no grisly beard was seen,
And none beheld him careless or unclean,
Or watch’d him sleeping.  We indeed have heard
Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear’d;
’Tis seen in infants—­there indeed we find
The features soften’d by the slumbering mind;
But other beauties, when disposed to sleep,
Should from the eye of keen inspector keep: 
The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise,
May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes;
Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes,
And all the homely features homelier makes: 
So thought our wife, beholding with a sigh
Her sleeping spouse, and Edward smiling by. 
   A sick relation for the husband sent;
Without delay the friendly sceptic went;
Nor fear’d the youthful pair, for he had seen
The wife untroubled, and the friend serene;
No selfish purpose in his roving eyes,
No vile deception in her fond replies: 
So judged the husband, and with judgment true,
For neither yet the guilt or danger knew. 
   What now remain’d? but they again should play
Th’ accustom’d game, and walk th’ accustom’d way;
With careless freedom should converse or read,
And the Friend’s absence neither fear nor heed: 
But rather now they seem’d confused, constrain’d;
Within their room still restless they remain’d,
And painfully they felt, and knew each other pain’d. 
Ah, foolish men! how could ye thus depend,
One on himself, the other on his friend? 
   The Youth with troubled eye the lady saw,
Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw;
While she, with tuneless hand the jarring keys
Touching, was not one moment at her ease: 
Now would she walk, and call her friendly guide,
Now speak of rain, and cast her cloak aside;
Seize on a book, unconscious what she read,
And restless still to new resources fled;
Then laugh’d aloud, then tried to look serene;
And ever changed, and every change was seen. 
   Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame —
The trying day was past, another came;
The third was all remorse, confusion, dread,
And (all too late!) the fallen hero fled. 
   Then felt the Youth, in that seducing time,
How feebly Honour guards the heart from crime: 
Small is his native strength; man needs the stay,
The strength imparted in the trying day;
For all that Honour brings against the force
Of headlong passion, aids its rapid course;
Its slight resistance but provokes the fire,
As wood-work stops the flame, and then conveys it higher. 
   The Husband came; a wife by guilt made bold
Had, meeting, soothed him, as in days of old;
But soon this fact transpired; her strong distress,
And his Friend’s absence, left him nought to guess. 
   Still cool, though grieved, thus prudence bade him write —
“I cannot pardon, and I will not fight;
Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws,
And I too faulty to support my cause: