Page:Poems upon Several Occasions.djvu/91

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.