CLEORA.
CLeöra has her Wish, she weds a Peer,
Her weighty Train two Pages scarce can bear,
Persia and both the Indies must provide
To grace her Pomp, and gratifie her Pride;
Of rich Brocard a shining Robe she wears,
And Gems surround her lovely Neck, like Stars.
Drawn by six Greys of the proud Belgian kind,
With a long Train of Livery Beaus behind,
She charms the Park, and sets all Hearts on Fire,
The Ladies Envy, and the Mens Desire.
Beholding thus, O happy as a Queen!
We cry: But shift the gaudy flattering Scene,
View her at home in her Domestick Light,
For thither she must come, at least at Night.
What has she there? A surly, ill-bred Lord,
That chides, and snaps her up at ev'ry Word;
A brutal Sot, who, while she holds his Head,
With drunken Filth bedawbs the Nuptial Bed:
Sick to the Heart, she breathes the nauseous Fume
Of odious Steams, that poison all the Room:
Weeping all Night the trembling Creature lyes,
And counts the tedious Hours when she may rise:
But most she fears, lest waking she shou'd fin,
To make amends, the Monster wou'd be kind:
Those matchless Beauties, worthy of a God,
Must bear, tho' much averse, the loathsome Load.
What then may be the Chance that next ensues?
Some vile Disease, fresh reeking from the Stews.
The secret Venom, circling in her Veins,
Works thro' her Skin, and bursts in bloating Stains,
Her Cheeks their Freshness lose, and wonted Grace,
And an unusual Paleness spreads her Face,
Her Eyes grow dim, and her corrupted Breath
Tainting her Gums, infects her Ivory Teeth,
Of sharp nocturnal Anguish she complains,
And guiltless of the Cause, relates her Pains.
The conscious Husband, whom like Symptoms seize,
Charges on her the Guilt of their Disease.
Affecting Fury, acts a Madman's Part,
He'll rip the fatal Secret from her Heart!
Bids her confess, calls her ten thousand Names,
In vain she kneels, she weeps, protests, exclaims;
Scarce with her Life she scapes, expos'd to Shame,
In Body tortur'd, murder'd in her Fame,
Rots with a vile Adulteress's Name,
Abandon'd by her Friends, without Defence,
And happy only in her Innocence.
Such is the Vengeance the just Gods provide
For those, who barter Liberty for Pride,
Who impiously invoke the Pow'rs above
To witness to false Vows of mutual Love.
Thousands of poor Cleoras may be found,
Such Husbands and such wretched Wives abound.
Ye Guardian Pow'rs, the Arbiters of Bliss,
Preserve Clarinda from a Fate like this:
You form'd her fair, not any Grace deny'd,
But gave, alas! a Spark too much of Pride;
Reform that Failing, and protect her still,
O save her from the Curse of chusing ill.
Deem it not Envy, or a jealous Care,
That moves these Wishes, or provokes this Pray'r,
Tho' more than Death I dread to see those Charms
Allotted to some happier Mortal's Arms;
Tormenting Thought! Yet cou'd I bear that Pain,
Or any Ill, but hearing her complain;
Intent on her, my Love forgets his own,
Nor frames one Wish, but for her sake alone.
Whome'er the Gods have destin'd to prefer,
They cannot make wretched, blessing her.