Belphegor’stale by Satan was believed;
Reward
he got: the term, which-sorely grieved,
Was
now reduced; indeed, what had he done,
That
should prevent it?—If away he’d run,
Who
would not do the same who weds a shrew?
Sure
worse below the devil never knew!
A
brawling woman’s tongue, what saint can bear?
E’en
Job, Honesta would have taught despair.
Whatis the inference? you ask:—I’ll tell;—
Live
single, if you know you are well;
But
if old Hymen o’er your senses reign,
Beware
Honestas, or you’ll rue the chain.
* By this character La Fontaine
is supposed to
have meant his own wife.
The little bell
How weak is man! how changeable his mind!
His promises are naught, too oft we find;
I vowed (I hope in tolerable verse,)
Again no idle story to rehearse.
And whence this promise?—Not two days ago;
I’m quite confounded; better I should know:
A rhymer hear then, who himself can boast,
Quite steady for—a minute at the most.
The pow’rs above could prudence ne’er design;
For those who fondly court the Sisters Nine.
Some means to please they’ve got, you will confess;
But none with certainty the charm possess.
If, howsoever, I were doomed to find
Such lines as fully would content the mind:
Though I should fail in matter, still in art;
I might contrive some pleasure to impart.
Let’ssee what we are able to obtain:—
A
bachelor resided in Touraine.
A
sprightly youth, who oft the maids beset,
And
liked to prattle to the girls he met,
With
sparkling eyes, white teeth, and easy air,
Plain
russet petticoat and flowing hair,
Beside
a rivulet, while Io round,
With
little bell that gave a tinkling sound,
On
herbs her palate gratified at will,
And
gazed and played, and fondly took her fill.
Amongthe rustic nymphs our spark perceived
A
charming girl, for whom his bosom heaved;
Too
young, however, to feel the poignant smart,
By
Cupid oft inflicted on the heart.
I
will not say thirteen’s an age unfit
The
contrary most fully I admit;
The
law supposes (such its prudent fears)
Maturity
at still more early years;
But
this apparently refers to towns,
While
love was born for groves, and lawns, and downs.
Theyouth exerted ev’ry art to please;
But
all in vain: he only seemed to teaze:
Whate’er
he said, however nicely graced,
Ill-humour,
inexperience, or distaste,
Induced
the belle, unlearned in Cupid’s book;
To
treat his passion with a froward look.