p. 31 (seq. 34)

31

Caught from such inmates, dangerous and vile,
Devoid of virtue, rectitude or honour
Save what accords with militaty fame?
Hast thou no wife who ask thy tender care
To guard her from Bellona's hardy sons?
Who when not toiling in the hostile field
Are faithful not'ries to the Cyprian Queen.
Or is her soul of such materials made
Indelicate, and thoughtless of her fame:
So void of either sentiment or sense,
As makes her a companion fit for thee? –

Simple Sapling. Silvia's good natur'd, and no doubt will yield,
And take the brawny vet'rans to her board,
When she's assur'd 'twill help her husband's fame.
If she complains or murmurs at the plan,
Let her solicit charity abroad;
Let her go and seek some pitying friend
To give her shelter from the wint'ry blast,
Disperse her children round the neighb'ring cots,
And then ––––

Publican. –– Then weep thy folly, and her own hard fate!
I pity Silvia, I knew the beauteous maid
E'er she descended to become thy wife:
She silent mourns the weakness of her lord,
For she's too virtuous to approve thy deeds.

Hateall. Tho – what's a woman's tears,
Or all the whinings of that trifling sex?
I never felt one tender thought towards them.
When young (indeed) I wedded nut brown Kate,
(Blyth buxom Dowager the jockey's prey)
But all I wish'd was to secure her dower.
I broke her spirits when I'd won her purse;
For which I'll give a recipe most sure
To ev'ry henpeck's husband round the board;
If crabbed words or surly looks won't tame
The haughty shrew, nor bend the stubborn mind,
Then the green Hick'ry or the willow twig
Will prove a curse for each rebellious dame
Who dare oppose her lord's superior will.

Sylla. Enough of this, ten thousand harrowing cares
Tear up my peace, and swell my anxious breast.
I see some mighty victim must appease
An injured nation, tott'ring on the verge
Of wide destruction, made the wanton sport
Of hungry harpies, gaping for their prey;