Is but a Lock without a Key:
It is a kind of Rape to marry
One that neglects or cares not for ye;
For what does make it Ravishment,
But being 'gainst the Mind's Confent.
A Slavery beyond enduring,
But that 'tis of our own procuring:
As Spiders never feek the Fly,
But leave him of himself t'apply;
So Men are by themselves betray'd
To quit the Freedom they enjoy'd,
And run their Necks into a Noose,
They'd break 'em after to break loofe.

With gaudy Plumes and jingling Bells made proud,
The youthful Beaft fets forth and neighs aloud:
A morning Sun his tinfell'd Harness gilds,

And the firft Stage a down-hill Green-fword yields.
But oh!

What rugged Ways attend the Noon of Life,
Our Sun declines, and, with what anxious Strife,
What Pain we tug that galling Load a Wife?
All Courfers the firft Heat with Vigour run,

Hud:

Hud.

But 'tis with Whip and Spur the Race is won. Cong. Old. Batch.
Marriage is but a Beaft, fome fay,

That carries double in foul Way;
Therefore 'tis not to be admir'd
It should fo fuddenly be tir'd.

For after Matrimony's over,

He that holds out but half a Lover,
Deferves for every Minute more
Than half a Year of Love before.
Fondness is ftill th'Effe&t of new Delight:
Marriage is but the Pleasure of a Day;
The Metal's bafe, the Gilding worn away.
Marriage at beft is but a Vow,

Which all Men either break or bow.
Lord of your felf, uncumber'd with a Wife!
Where for a Year, a Month, perhaps a Night,
Long Penitence fucceeds a fhort Delight.

Minds are fo hardly match'd, that ev'n the first,
Tho' pair'd by Heav'n, in Paradife, were curs'd:
For Man and Woman, tho' in one they grow,`
Yet, firft or laft, return again to two:

He to God's Image, fhe to his was made;

Hud,

Hud.

Dryd. Auren.

So farther from the Fount the Stream at Random stray'd:
How could he stand; when, put to double Pain,
He muft a weaker than himself fuftain ?

Hud.

Each

Each might have ftood perhaps, but each alone;
Two Wreftlers help to pull each other down.
Not that my Verfe would blemish all the Fair,
But yet, if fome be bad, 'tis Wisdom to beware;

And better fhun the Bait, than struggle in the Snare. Dryd.
I would not wed her:

No! were fhe all Defire could wish, as fair

As would the vainest of her Sex be thought,

With Wealth beyond what Woman's Pride could waffe,
She fhould not cheat me of my Freedom. Marry!
When I am old, and weary of the World,

I may grow desperate,

And take a Wife to mortify withal.

Marriage to Maids is like a War to Men, The Battle caufes Fear, but the sweet Hopes Of winning at the laft ftill draws them in. MARS.

The God of War, whofe unrefifted Sway The Labours and Events of Arms obey.

Thus on the Banks of Hebrus freezing Flood,
The God of Battels, in his angry Mood,
Clashing his Sword againft his brazen Shield,
Lets loose the Reins, and fcours along the Field:
Before the Wind his fiery Courfers fly,

Groans the fad Earth, refounds the rattling Sky.
Wrath, Terrour, Treafon, Tumult, and Despair,

Dire Faces and deform'd, furround the Car,

"

Otw, Orph.

Lee Mithrid.

Dryd. Virg.

Friends of the God, and Follow'rs of the War. Dryd. Virg.. Strong God of Arms! whofe Iron Sceptre fways

The freezing North, and Hyperborean Seas,

And Scythian Colds, and Thracia's wintry Coaft,
Where ftand thy Steeds, and thou art honour'd moft:
There moft; but ev'ry where thy Pow'r is known,
The Fortune of the Fight is all thy own:
Terrour is thine, and wild Amazement flung
From out thy Chariot, withers ev'n the Strong:
And Difarray, and fhameful Rout enfue,
And Force is added to the fainting Crew.
Venus, the publick Care of all above,
Thy ftubborn Heart has foften'd into Love:
Now by her Blandishments and pow'rful Charms,
When yielded, the lay curling in thy Arms;
Ev'n by thy Shame, if Shame it may be call'd,
When Vulcan had thee in his Net inthrall'd;
(Oh envied Ignominy! Sweet Difgrace!
When ev'ry God that faw thee, wifh'd thy Place!)
By thofe dear Pleasures, aid my Arms in Fight,

And

And make me conquer in my Patron's Right.
For I am young, a Novice in the Trade,
The Fool of Love, unpractis'd to perfwade;
And want the foothing Arts that catch the Fair;
But caught my felf, lie ftruggling in the Snare.
Nought can my Strength avail, unlefs by thee
Endu'd with Force, I gain the Victory.
Acknowledg'd as thou art, accept my Pray'r,
If ought I have atchiev'd deferve thy Care;
If to my utmoft Pow'r, with Sword and Shield,
I dar'd the Death, unknowing how to yield;
And falling in my Rank, ftill kept the Field.
So be the Morrow's Sweat and Labour mine,
The Palm and Honour of the Conqueft thine.
Then fhall the War, and ftern Debate, and Strife
Immortal, be the Bus'nefs of my Life;

And in thy Fane, the dufty Spoil_among,

High on the burnifh'd Roof, my Banner fhall be hung,
Rank'd with my Champions Bucklers; and below,
With Arms revers'd, th'Achievements of my Foe.
And while thefe Limbs the vital Spirit feeds,
While Day to Night, and Night to Day fucceeds,
Thy smoking Altar fhall be fat with Food
Of Incenfe, and the grateful Stream of Blood:
Burnt-Off'rings Morn and Ev'ning fhall be thine,
And Fires eternal in thy Temple shine:
This Bufh of yellow Beard, this Length of Hair
Which from my Birth inviolate I bear,

Guiltlefs of Steel, and from the Razor free,

Shall fall a plenteous Crop, referv'd for thee. Dryd. Pal. & Are. Temple of MARS,

In the Dome of mighty Mars the Red,

With diff'rent Figures all the Sides were spread:
This Temple, lefs in Form, with equal Grace,
Was imitative of the firft in Thrace.

For that cold Region was the lov❜d Abode,
And Sov'raign Manfion of the Warriour-God.
The Landscape was a Foreft wide and bare,
Where neither Beaft nor Human-kind repair.
The Fowl that scent afar, the Borders fly,
And fhun the bitter Blaft, and wheel about the Sky.
A Cake of Scurf lies baking on the Ground,
And prickly Stubs inftead of Trees are found;
Or Woods with Knots and Knares, deform'd and old;
Headlefs the moft; and hideous to behold.
A ratt'ling Tempest thro' the Branches went,
That ftript them bare, and one fole Way they bent.

Heav'n froze above fevere; the Clouds congeal,
And through the chryftal Vault appear'd the ftanding Hail.
Such was the Face without, a Mountain ftood,

Threat'ning from high, and overlook'd the Wood:
Beneath the lowring Brow, and on a Bent
The Temple stood of Mars Armipotent.

The Frame of burnish'd Steel, that caft a Glare
From far, and feem'd to thaw the freezing Air.
A ftreight long Entry to the Temple led,
Blind with high Walls, and Horrour over-head
Thence iffu'd fuch a Blaft, and hollow Roar,
As threaten'd from the Hinge to heave the Door.
In, thro' that Door a northern Light there fhone,
'Twas all it had, for Windows there were none.
The Gate was Adamant; eternal Frame !

Which hew'd by Mars himself from Indian Quarries came,
The Labour of a God! and all along

Tough Iron Plates were clench'd to make it ftrong.
A Tun about was every Pillar there,

A polish'd Mirrour fhone not half fo clear.

There faw I how the fecret Fellon wrought,

And Treafon lab'ring in the Traitor's Thought,

And Midwife-Time the ripen'd Plot to Murder brought.
There the red Anger dar'd the pallid Fear;
Next food Hyyocrify, with holy Leer,
Soft-fmiling, and demurely looking down;
But hid the Dagger underneath the Gown.
Th'affaffinating Wife, the Houfhold-Fiend,
And, far the blackeft there, the Traitor-Friend.
On th'other Side there ftood Destruction bare,
Unpunifh'd Rapine, and a Waffe of War.
Contest, with fharpen'd Knives in Cloysters drawn,
And all with Blood befmear'd the holy Lawn.
Loud Menaces were heard, and foul Difgrace,
And bawling Infamy in Language bafe,

Till Senfe was loft in Sound, and Silence fled the Place.
The Slayer of himself yet faw I there,

The Gore congeal'd was clotter'd in his Hair ;

With Eyes half clos'd, and gaping Mouth he lay,
And grim, as when he breath'd his fullen Soul away.
In midft of all the Dome, Misfortune fate,
And gloomy Difcontent, and fell Debate:
And Madness laughing in his ireful Mood;

And arm'd Complaint on Theft, and Cries of Blood.
There was the murder'd Corps in Covert laid,
And vi'lent Death in thousand Shapes difplay'd.
The City to the Soldiers Rage refign'd;

Succefs

Succefslefs Wars, and Poverty behind.
Ships burnt in Fight, or forc'd on rocky Shores,
And the rafh Hunter ftrangled by the Boars.
The new-born Babe by Nurfes over-laid,

And the Cook caught within the raging Fire he made.
All Ills of Mars's Nature; Flame, and Steel;
The gafping Charioteer beneath the Wheel
Of his own Car; the ruin'd Houfe that falls
And intercepts her Lord betwixt the Walls.
The whole Divifion that to Mars pertains,
All Trades of Death that deal in Steel for Gains
Were there; the Butcher, Armourer, and Smith
Who forges fharpen'd Fauchions or the Scythe:
The fcarlet Conqueft on a Tow'r was plac'd,
With Shouts and Soldiers Acclamations grac'd.
There faw I Mars's Ides, the Capitol,

The Seer in vain foretelling Cafar's Fall;
The laft Triumvirs, and the Wars they move,
And Anthony who loft the World for Love.
These, and a thousand more the Fane adorn,"
Their Fates were painted e'er the Men were born.
All copy'd from the Heav'ns, and ruling Force
Of the red Star, in his revolving Course.

The Form of Mars high on a Chariot ftood,

Arc.

All sheath'd in Arms, and gruffly look'd the God. Dryd. Pal.&

Μ ΑΥ.

For thee, fweet Month, the Groves green Liv'ries wear,

If not the first, the fairest of the Year.

For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours;

And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flow'rs:

(Pal. & Arc.

Dryd.

When thy fhort Reign is past, the feav'rish Sun
The fultry Tropick fears, and moves more flowly on.
Sprightly May commands our Youth to keep,
The Vigils of her Night, and breaks their fluggard Sleep:
Each gentle Breaft with kindly Warmth fhe moves,
Infpires new Flames, revives extinguifh'd Loves. Dryd. Pal. &
Golden M E A N. See Greatness.

Superfluous Pomp and Wealth I not defire,
But what Content and Decency require.

Pleasures abroad the Sport of Nature yields:
Her living Fountains and her fmiling Fields:
And then at home what Pleasure is't to fee
A little, cleanly, chearful Family!
Which if a chafte Wife crown, no less in her,
Than Fortune, I the golden Mean prefer.
Too noble, nor too wife fhe should not.be,
No nor too rich, too fair, too fond of me.

(Art.

Har. Juv.

Thus