AN ANSWER TO DR. DELANY.
THE wise pretend to make it clear
'Tis no great loss to lose an ear.
Why are we then so fond of two,
When by experience one would do?
'Tis true, say they, cut off the head,
And there's an end; the man is dead;
Because, among all human race,
None e'er was known to have a brace:
But confidently they maintain
That where we find the members twain,
The loss of one is no such trouble,
Since t'other will in strength be double.
The limb surviving, you may swear,
Becomes his brother's lawful heir:
Thus, for a trial, let me beg of
Your reverence but to cut one leg off,
And you shall find, by this device,
The other will be stronger twice;
For every day you shall be gaining
New vigor to the leg remaining.
So, when an eye has lost its brother,
You see the better with the other;
Cut off your hand, and you may do
With t'other hand the work of two:
Because the soul her power contracts,
And on the brother limb re-acts.
But yet the point is not so clear in
Another case, the sense of hearing:
For, though the place of either ear
Be distant, as one head can bear,
Yet Galen most acutely shows you
(Consult his book de partium usu)
That from each ear, as he observes,
There creep two auditory nerves,
Not to be seen without a glass,
Which near the os petrosum pass;
Thence to the neck; and moving thorough there,
One goes to this, and one to t'other ear;
Which made my grandam always stuff her ears
Both right and left, as fellow-sufferers.
You see my learning; but, to shorten it,
When my left ear was deaf a fortnight,
To t'other ear I felt it coming on:
And thus I solve this hard phenomenon.
'Tis true, a glass will bring supplies
To weak, or old, or clouded eyes:
Your arms, though both your eyes were lost,
Would guard your nose against a post:
Without your legs, two legs of wood
Are stronger, and almost as good:
And as for hands, there have been those
Who, wanting both, have used their toes.
But no contrivance yet appears
To furnish artificial ears.
A QUIET LIFE AND A GOOD NAME.
To a friend who married a shrew. 1724.
NELL scolded in so loud a din,
That Will durst hardly venture in:
He mark'd the conjugal dispute;
Nell roar'd incessant, Dick sat mute;
But, when he saw his friend appear,
Cried bravely, "Patience, good my dear!"
At sight of Will, she bawl'd no more,
But hurried out and clapp'd the door.
Why, Dick! the devil's in thy Nell,
(Quoth Will,) thy house is worse than hell:
Why what a peal the jade has rung!
D-n her, why don't you slit her tongue?
For nothing else will make it cease.
Dear Will, I suffer this for peace:
I never quarrel with my wife;
I bear it for a quiet life.
Scripture, you know, exhorts us to it;
Bids us to seek peace, and ensue it.
Will went again to visit Dick;
And entering in the very nick.
He saw virago Nell belabor,
With Dick's own staff, his peaceful neighbor.
Poor Will, who needs must interpose,
Received a brace or two of blows.
But now, to make my story short,
Will drew out Dick to take a quart.
Why, Dick, thy wife has devilish whims;
Ods-buds! why don't you break her limbs?
If she were mine, and had such tricks.
I'd teach her how to handle sticks:
Z-ds! I would ship her to Jamaica,
Or truck the carrion for tobacco:
I'd send her far enough away
Dear Will; but what would people say?
Lord! I should get so ill a name,
The neighbors round would cry out shame.
Dick suffer'd for his peace and credit;
But who believed him when he said it?
Can he, who makes himself a slave,
Consult his peace, or credit save?
Dick found it by his ill success,
His quiet small, his credit less.
She served him at the usual rate;
And what he thought the hardest case,
The parish jeer'd him to his face;
Those men who wore the breeches least
Call'd him a cuckold, fool, and beast.
At home he was pursued with noise;
Abroad was pester'd by the boys:
Within, his wife would break his bones;
Without, they pelted him with stones;
The 'prentices procured a riding,1
To act his patience and her chiding.
False patience and mistaken pride!
There are ten thousand Dicks beside;
Slaves to their quiet and good name
Are used like Dick, and bear the blame.
Written after the news of the death of king George I., who died after a short sickness, by eating a melon, at Osnaburg, on his way to Hanover, June 11, 1727.
"Richmond Lodge is a house with a small park belonging to the crown. It was usually granted by the crown for a lease of years. The duke of Ormond was the last who had it. After his exile it was given to the prince of Wales by the king. The prince and princess usually passed their summer there. It is within a mile of Richmond.
"Marble-hill is a house built by Mrs. Howard, then of the bedchamber, afterwards countess of Suffolk and groom of the stole to the queen. It is on the Middlesex side, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope lived, and about two miles from Richmond lodge. Mr. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, lord Herbert the architect, the dean of St. Patrick's chief butler and keeper of the ice-house. Upon king George's death these two houses met and had the following dialogue."
IN spite of Pope, in spite of Gay,
And all that he or they can say,
Sing on I must and sing I will
Of Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill.
Last Friday night, as neighbors use,
This couple met to talk of news:
For by old proverbs it appears
That walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
Quoth Marble Hill, right well I ween,
Your mistress now is grown a queen:
You'll find it soon by woful proof,
She'll come no more beneath your roof.
The kingly prophet well evinces
That we should put no trust in princes:
My royal master promised me
To raise me to a high degree;
'A well-known humorous cavalcade, in ridicule of a scolding wife and a hen
And as for hands, there have been those
Who, wanting both, have used their toes.
But no contrivance yet appears
To furnish artificial ears.
A QUIET LIFE AND A GOOD NAME.
To a friend who married a shrew. 1724.
NELL scolded in so loud a din,
That Will durst hardly venture in:
He mark'd the conjugal dispute;
Nell roar'd incessant, Dick sat mute;
But, when he saw his friend appear,
Cried bravely, "Patience, good my dear!"
At sight of Will, she bawl'd no more,
But hurried out and clapp'd the door.
Why, Dick! the devil's in thy Nell,
(Quoth Will,) thy house is worse than hell:
Why what a peal the jade has rung!
D-n her, why don't you slit her tongue?
For nothing else will make it cease.
Dear Will, I suffer this for peace:
I never quarrel with my wife;
I bear it for a quiet life.
Scripture, you know, exhorts us to it;
Bids us to seek peace, and ensue it.
Will went again to visit Dick;
And entering in the very nick.
He saw virago Nell belabor,
With Dick's own staff, his peaceful neighbor.
Poor Will, who needs must interpose,
Received a brace or two of blows.
But now, to make my story short,
Will drew out Dick to take a quart.
Why, Dick, thy wife has devilish whims;
Ods-buds! why don't you break her limbs?
If she were mine, and had such tricks.
I'd teach her how to handle sticks:
Z-ds! I would ship her to Jamaica,
Or truck the carrion for tobacco:
I'd send her far enough away
Dear Will; but what would people say?
Lord! I should get so ill a name,
The neighbors round would cry out shame.
Dick suffer'd for his peace and credit;
But who believed him when he said it?
Can he, who makes himself a slave,
Consult his peace, or credit save?
Dick found it by his ill success,
His quiet small, his credit less.
She served him at the usual rate;
And what he thought the hardest case,
The parish jeer'd him to his face;
Those men who wore the breeches least
Call'd him a cuckold, fool, and beast.
At home he was pursued with noise;
Abroad was pester'd by the boys:
Within, his wife would break his bones;
Without, they pelted him with stones;
The 'prentices procured a riding,1
To act his patience and her chiding.
False patience and mistaken pride!
There are ten thousand Dicks beside;
Slaves to their quiet and good name
Are used like Dick, and bear the blame.
Written after the news of the death of king George I., who died after a short sickness, by eating a melon, at Osnaburg, on his way to Hanover, June 11, 1727.
"Richmond Lodge is a house with a small park belonging to the crown. It was usually granted by the crown for a lease of years. The duke of Ormond was the last who had it. After his exile it was given to the prince of Wales by the king. The prince and princess usually passed their summer there. It is within a mile of Richmond.
"Marble-hill is a house built by Mrs. Howard, then of the bedchamber, afterwards countess of Suffolk and groom of the stole to the queen. It is on the Middlesex side, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope lived, and about two miles from Richmond lodge. Mr. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, lord Herbert the architect, the dean of St. Patrick's chief butler and keeper of the ice-house. Upon king George's death these two houses met and had the following dialogue."
IN spite of Pope, in spite of Gay,
And all that he or they can say,
Sing on I must and sing I will
Of Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill.
Last Friday night, as neighbors use,
This couple met to talk of news:
For by old proverbs it appears
That walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
Quoth Marble Hill, right well I ween,
Your mistress now is grown a queen:
You'll find it soon by woful proof,
She'll come no more beneath your roof.
The kingly prophet well evinces
That we should put no trust in princes:
My royal master promised me
To raise me to a high degree;
'A well-known humorous cavalcade, in ridicule of a scolding wife and a hen
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