But would rejoice to see the cause again:
That neighbouring youth, whom she endured before,
She now rejects, and will behold no more;
Raised by her passion, she no longer stoops
To her own equals, but she pines and droops,
Like to a lily on whose sweets the sun
Has withering gazed - she saw and was undone;
His wealth allured her not - nor was she moved
By his superior state, himself she loved;
So mild, so good, so gracious, so genteel, -
But spare your sister, and her love conceal;
We must the fault forgive, since she the pain must feel.”
“Fault!” said the ’Squire, “there’s coarseness in the mind
That thus conceives of feelings so refined;
Here end my doubts, nor blame yourself, my friend,
Fate made you careless - here my doubts have end.”
The way is plain before us - there is now
The Lover’s visit first, and then the vow,
Mutual and fond, the marriage-rite, the Bride
Brought to her home with all a husband’s pride:
The ’Squire receives the prize his merits won,
And the glad parents leave the patron-son.
But in short time he saw, with much surprise,
First gloom, then grief, and then resentment rise,
From proud, commanding frowns, and anger-darting eyes:
“Is there in Harriot’s humble mind this fire,
This fierce impatience?” ask’d the puzzled ’Squire:
“Has marriage changed her? or the mask she wore
Has she thrown by, and is herself once more?”
Hour after hour, when clouds on clouds appear,
Dark and more dark, we know the tempest near;
And thus the frowning brow, the restless form,
And threat’ning glance, forerun domestic storm:
So read the Husband, and, with troubled mind,
Reveal’d his fears - “My Love, I hope you find
All here is pleasant - but I must confess
You seem offended, or in some distress:
Explain the grief you feel, and leave me to redress.”
“Leave it to you?” replied the Nymph - “indeed!
What to the cause from whence the ills proceed?
Good Heaven! to take me from a place where I
Had every comfort underneath the sky;
And then immure me in a gloomy place,
With the grim monsters of your ugly race,
That from their canvas staring, make me dread
Through the dark chambers, where they hang, to tread.
No friend nor neighbour comes to give that joy
Which all things here must banish or destroy.
Where is the promised coach? the pleasant ride?
Oh! what a fortune has a Farmer’s bride!
Your sordid pride has placed me just above
Your hired domestics - and what pays me? Love!
A selfish fondness I endure each hour,
And share unwitness’d pomp, unenvied power.
I hear your folly, smile at your parade,
And see your favourite dishes duly made;
Then am I richly dress’d for you t’admire,
Such is my duty and my Lord’s desire:
Is this a life for youth, for health, for joy?
Are these my duties - this my base employ?
No! to my father’s house will I repair,
And make your idle wealth support me there.
Was it your wish to have an humble bride,
For bondage thankful? Curse upon your pride!
Was it a slave you wanted? You shall see,
That, if not happy, I at least am free:
Well, sir! your answer.” - Silent stood the ’Squire,
As looks a miser at his house on fire;
Where all he deems is vanish’d in that flame,
Swept from the earth his substance and his name,
So, lost to every promised joy of life,
Our ’Squire stood gaping at his angry wife; -
His fate, his ruin, where he saw it vain
To hope for peace, pray, threaten, or complain;
And thus, betwixt his wonder at the ill
And his despair, there stood he gaping still.
“Your answer, sir! - Shall I depart a spot
I thus detest?” - “Oh, miserable lot!”
Exclaim’d the man. “Go, serpent! nor remain
To sharpen woe by insult and disdain;
A nest of harpies was I doom’d to meet;
What plots, what combinations of deceit!
I see it now - all plann’d, design’d, contrived;
Served by that villain - by this fury wived -
What fate is mine! What wisdom, virtue truth,
Can stand if demons set their traps for youth?
He lose his way? vile dog! he cannot lose
The way a villain through his life pursues;
And thou, deceiver! thou afraid to move,
And hiding close the serpent in the dove!
I saw - but, fated to endure disgrace,
Unheeding saw - the fury in thy face,
And call’d it spirit. Oh: I might have found
Fraud and imposture all the kindred round!
A nest of vipers” -
“Sir, I’ll not admit
These wild effusions of your angry wit:
Have you that value, that we all should use
Such mighty arts for such important views?
Are you such prize - and is my state so fair,
That they should sell their souls to get me there?
Think you that we alone our thoughts disguise?
When, in pursuit of some contended prize,
Mask we alone the heart, and soothe whom we despise?
Speak you of craft and subtle schemes, who know
That all your wealth you to deception owe;
Who play’d for ten dull years a scoundrel part,
To worm yourself into a Widow’s heart?
Now, when you guarded, with superior skill,
That lady’s closet, and preserved her Will,
Blind in your craft, you saw not one of those
Opposed by you might you in turn oppose,
Or watch your motions, and by art obtain
Share of that wealth you gave your peace to gain.
Did conscience never” -
“Cease, tormentor, cease -
Or reach me poison; - let me rest in peace!”
“Agreed - but hear me - let the truth appear.”
“Then state your purpose - I’ll be calm and hear.”
“Know then, this wealth, sole object of your care,
I had some right, without your hand, to share;
My mother’s claim was just - but soon she saw
Your power, compell’d, insulted, to withdraw:
’Twas then my father, in his anger, swore
You should divide the fortune, or restore.
Long we debated - and you find me now
Heroic victim to a father’s vow;
Like Jephtha’s daughter, but in different state,
And both decreed to mourn our early fate:
Hence was my brother servant to your pride,
Vengeance made him your slave, and me your bride.
Now all is known - a dreadful price I pay
For our revenge - but still we have our day:
All that you love you must with others share,
Or all you dread from their resentment dare: -
Yet terms I offer - let contention cease;
Divide the spoil, and let us part in peace.”
Our hero trembling heard - he sat, he rose -
Nor could his motions nor his mind compose;
He paced the room - and, stalking to her side,
Gazed on the face of his undaunted bride,
And nothing there but scorn and calm aversion spied.
He would have vengeance, yet he fear’d the law;
Her friends would threaten, and their power he saw;
“Then let her go:” but, oh! a mighty sum
Would that demand, since he had let her come;
Nor from his sorrows could he find redress,
Save that which led him to a like distress;
And all his ease was in his wife to see
A wretch as anxious and distress’d as he:
Her strongest wish, the fortune to divide,
And part in peace, his avarice denied;
And thus it happen’d, as in all deceit,
The cheater found the evil of the cheat;
The Husband griev’d - nor was the Wife at rest;
Him she could vex, and he could her molest;
She could his passion into frenzy raise,
But, when the fire was kindled, fear’d the blaze;
As much they studied, so in time they found
The easiest way to give the deepest wound;
But then, like fencers, they were equal still, -
Both lost in danger what they gain’d in skill;
Each heart a keener kind of rancour gain’d,
And, paining more, was more severely pain’d,
And thus by both was equal vengeance dealt,
And both the anguish they inflicted felt.
TALE XIII.
JESSE AND COLIN.
Then she plots, then she ruminates, then she devises; and what they
think in their hearts they may effect, they will break their hearts
but they will effect.
SHAKESPEARE, Merry Wives of Windsor.
She hath spoken that she should not, I am sure of that; Heaven knows
what she hath known.
Macbeth.
Our house is hell, and thou a merry devil.
Merchant of Venice.
And yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit of too much,
as they that starve with nothing; it is no mean happiness, therefore,
to be seated in the mean.
Merchant of Venice.
----------------------------
A Vicar died and left his Daughter poor -
It hurt her not, she was not rich before:
Her humble share of worldly goods she sold,
Paid every debt, and then her fortune told;
And found, with youth and beauty, hope and health,
Two hundred guineas was her worldly wealth;
It then remain’d to choose her path in life,
And first, said Jesse, “Shall I be a wife? -
Colin is mild and civil, kind and just,
I know his love, his temper I can trust;
But small his farm, it asks perpetual care,
And we must toil as well as trouble share:
True, he was taught in all the gentle arts
That raise the soul and soften human hearts;
And boasts a parent, who deserves to shine
In higher class, and I could wish her mine;
Nor wants he will his station to improve,
A just ambition waked by faithful love;
Still is he poor - and here my Father’s Friend
Deigns for his Daughter, as her own, to send:
A worthy lady, who it seems has known
A world of griefs and troubles of her own:
I was an infant when she came a guest
Beneath my father’s humble roof to rest;
Her kindred all unfeeling, vast her woes,
Such her complaint, and there she found repose;
Enrich’d by fortune, now she nobly lives,
And nobly, from the bless’d abundance, gives;
The grief, the want, of human life she knows,
And comfort there and here relief bestows:
But are they not dependants? - Foolish pride!
Am I not honour’d by such friend and guide?
Have I a home” (here Jesse dropp’d a tear),
“Or friend beside?” - A faithful friend was near.
Now Colin came, at length resolved to lay
His heart before her, and to urge her stay:
True, his own plough the gentle Colin drove,
An humble farmer with aspiring love;
Who, urged by passion, never dared till now,
Thus urged by fears, his trembling hopes avow:
Her father’s glebe he managed; every year
The grateful Vicar held the youth more dear;
He saw indeed the prize in Colin’s view,
And wish’d his Jesse with a man so true:
Timid as true, he urged with anxious air
His tender hope, and made the trembling prayer,
When Jesse saw, nor could with coldness see,
Such fond respect, such tried sincerity;
Grateful for favours to her father dealt,
She more than grateful for his passion felt;
Nor could she frown on one so good and kind,
Yet fear’d to smile, and was unfix’d in mind;
But prudence placed the Female Friend in view -
What might not one so rich and grateful do?
So lately, too, the good old Vicar died,
His faithful daughter must not cast aside
The signs of filial grief, and be a ready bride.
Thus, led by prudence, to the Lady’s seat
The Village-Beauty purposed to retreat;
But, as in hard-fought fields the victor knows
What to the vanquish’d he in honour owes,
So, in this conquest over powerful love,
Prudence resolved a generous foe to prove,
And Jesse felt a mingled fear and pain
In her dismission of a faithful swain,
Gave her kind thanks, and when she saw his woe,
Kindly betray’d that she was loth to go;
“But would she promise, if abroad she met
A frowning world, she would remember yet
Where dwelt a friend?” - “That could she not forget.”
And thus they parted; but each faithful heart
Felt the compulsion, and refused to part.
Now, by the morning mail the timid Maid
Was to that kind and wealthy Dame conveyed;