MISCELLANIES.
413
Plu——— Plutarch, what's his name that writes his life?
Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife:
Yet if a friend a night, or so, should need her,
He'd recommend her, as a special breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would scruple make,
But pray which of you all would take her back?
Tho' with the Stoick chief our stage may ring,
The Stoick husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country—but what's that to you?
Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye,
But the kind cuckold might instruct the City:
There, many an honest man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er saw naked Sword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a disgrace,
That Edward's Miss thus perks it in your face,
To see a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the rest so impudently good;
Faith, let the modest matrons of the town,
Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down.
Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife:
Yet if a friend a night, or so, should need her,
He'd recommend her, as a special breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would scruple make,
But pray which of you all would take her back?
Tho' with the Stoick chief our stage may ring,
The Stoick husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country—but what's that to you?
Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye,
But the kind cuckold might instruct the City:
There, many an honest man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er saw naked Sword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a disgrace,
That Edward's Miss thus perks it in your face,
To see a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the rest so impudently good;
Faith, let the modest matrons of the town,
Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down.
Occasion'd
