Ifmuch too long this introduction seem,
          The obvious cause is clearly in the theme,
          And should not certainly be hurried o’er,
          But now for something from th’ historick store.

          A certain man, no matter for his name,
          His country, rank, nor residence nor fame,
          Through fear of accidents had firmly sworn,
          The marriage chain should ne’er by him be worn;
          No tie but friendship, from the sex he’d crave: 
          If wrong or right, the question we will wave. 
          Be this as ’t will, since Hymen could not find
          Our wight to bear the wedded knot inclined,
          The god of love, to manage for him tried,
          And what he wished, from time to time supplied;
          A lively fair he got, who charms displayed,
          And made him father to a little maid;
          Then died, and left the spark dissolved in tears: 
          Not such as flow for wives, (as oft appears)
          When mourning ’s nothing more than change of dress: 
          His anguish spoke the soul in great distress.

          Thedaughter grew in years, improved in mien,
          And soon the woman in her air was seen;
          Time rolls apace, and once she’s ridded of her bib,
          Then alters daily, and her tongue gets glib,
          Each year still taller, till she’s found at length;
          A perfect belle in look, in age, in strength. 
          His forward child, the father justly feared,
          Would cheat the priest of fees so much revered;
          The lawyer too, and god of marriage-joys;
          Sad fault, that future prospects oft destroys: 
          To trust her virtue was not quite so sure;
          He chose a convent, to be more secure,
          Where this young charmer learned to pray and sew;
          No wicked books, unfit for girls to know,
          Corruption’s page the senses to beguile
          Dan Cupid never writes in convent style: 

          Ofnothing would she talk but holy-writ;
          On which she could herself so well acquit,
          That oft the gravest teachers were confused;
          To praise her beauty, scarcely was excused;
          No flatt’ry pleasure gave, and she’d reply: 
          Good sister stay!—­consider, we must die;
          Each feature perishes:—­’tis naught but clay;
          And soon will worms upon our bodies prey: 
          Superior needle-work our fair could do;
          The spindle turn at ease:—­embroider too;
          Minerva’s skill, or Clotho’s, could impart;
          In tapestry she’d gained Arachne’s art;
          And other talents, too, the daughter showed;
          Her sense, wealth, beauty, soon were spread abroad: 
          But