The Boudoir No. 6

THE FATHER

A Tale

Avaro liv'd a private life,

And starv'd in bondage with his wife.

Did she too starve? To him, at least,

So matters seem'd; but she knew best:

For she was plump, historians say,

And look'd as blithesome as the day;

But that, Avaro understood,

Was from her temper, not her food.

One son they had, but never more,

Children, thought he, make people poor:

And virtue dwells in self-denial,

So I'll abstain from farther trial.

Whether the lady thought the same,

Or not, is nothing to my theme.

The marriage articles which said

Madam should always have her maid,

Were kept from Susan down to Nan,

Till Dick begun to grow a man.

Dick was the son we just now mention'd;

Who, grown a man, inform'd the wench on't;

The wench grew fond, as Dick grew bolder, And was convinc'd of what he told her.

A lucky girl may grant a favour,

Yet keep her character for ever;

But luck was little of Nan's side;

Her failing grew too big to hide.

She wept, she sobb'd was almost wild:

What shall we do about the child?

Poor youth! thy ruin it will be:

And I! what must become of me?

Caught in this sad dilemma, Dick (Whose faculties were sharp and quick)

Concluded thus to save their bacon,

In father's net it must be taken:

Nan, you can swear a lie for once;

You know, the 'Squire is but a dunce:

At worst, his Worship may be wrought on;

Leave that to me (quoth Nan), well thought on.

Dick whispers it about the parish;

God knows the cause, but Nan looks queerish;

I vow my father don't grow young;

This was enough, the story rung;

A country servant big with beam,

Is thought a popular concern:

So Nan was quickly apprehended,

Son, father, mother, all attended.

Before the Justice now we find her,

Dick prompting all the while behind her;

His Worship (influenced before)

Cries, hussy who made you a whore?

My master, says the quean, and took

The usual oath upon the book. hat swore the slut? Avaro cries

(And lifted up his hands and eyes),

My wife can prove my long unfitness! — Villain (quoth she), call me to witness!

Yes, lecher, I can answer this;

I've now and then a slabbering kiss;

That's all, these twenty years and more;

The rest, it seems, was for your whore.

Condemn'd on evidence so plain,

Avaro urg'd his age in vain:

A child not his, a jealous wife,

Were now the comforts of his life:

And may such comforts ever be

The fruit of such frugality!