The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/55
CLEORA.
Cleora 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 gratify her pride:
Of rich brocade a ſhining robe ſhe wears,5
And gems ſurround her lovely neck like ſtars.
Drawn by ſix grays 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 men’s deſire.10
Beholding thus, “O happy as a queen!”
We cry. But ſhift the gaudy flatt’ring ſcene;
View her at home in her domeſtic light,
For thither ſhe muſt come, at leaſt at night,
What has ſhe there? a ſurly ill-bred lord,15
Who chides, and ſnaps her up at ev’ry word;
A brutal ſot, who, while ſhe holds his head,
With drunken filth bedaubs the nuptial bed:
Sick to the heart, ſhe breathes the nauſeous fume
Of odious ſteams that poiſon all the room:20
Weeping all night the trembling creature lies,
And counts the tedious hours when ſhe may riſe;
But moſt ſhe fears leſt, waking, ſhe ſhould find,
To make amends, the monſter would be kind.
Thoſe matchleſs beauties, worthy of a god,25
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:30
Her checks their freſhneſs loſe and wonted grace,
And an unuſual paleneſs ſpreads her face;
Her eyes grow dim, and her corrupted breath,
Tainting her gums, insects her ivory teeth:
Of ſharp nocturnal anguiſh ſhe complains,35
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!40
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;45
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 above50
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:55
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,60
That moves theſe wiſhes, or provokes this pray’r.
Tho’ worſe than death I dread to ſee those charms
Allotted to ſome happier mortal’s arms,
Tormenting thought! yet could I bear that pain,
Or any ill, but hearing her complain:65
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 me wretched bleſſing her.69