F A B L E

XIII.

THE BALD BATCHELOR:

Being a Paraphrafe upon the Second Fable in the Second Book of PHEDRUS.

"Frigidus in Venerem fenior, fruftraque laborem "Ingratuin trahit : & fi quando at prælia ventum eft, "Ut quondam in ftipulis magnus fine viribus ignis, "Incaffum furit. Ergo animos ævumque notabis "Præcipuè."VIRG. Geor. lib. iii.

A

Batchelor, who, paft his prime,

Had been a good one in his time,

Had fcour'd the streets, had whor'd, got drunk,
Had fought his man, and kept his punk:
Was fometimes rich, but oftener poor,

With early duns about his door;

Being a little off his mettle,

Thought it convenient now to fettle:
Grew wondrous wife at forty-five,
Refolving to be grave, and thrive.
By chance he caft his roguish eye
Upon a dame who liv'd hard by ;
A widow debonair and gay,
October in the drefs of May;
Artful to lay both red and white,
Skill'd in repairs, and, ev'n in spight
Of time and wrinkles, kept all tight.

}

But

But he, whofe heart was apt to rove,
An arrant wanderer in love;
Befides this widow, had Mifs Kitty,
Juicy and young, exceeding witty :
On her he thought, ferious or gay,
His dream by night, his toaft by day;
He thought, but not on her alone,
For who would be confin'd to one?
Between them both strange work he made;
Gave this a ball, or masquerade;

With that, at ferious ombre play'd :
The self-same compliments he spoke,
The felf-fame oaths he fwore, he broke;
Alternately on each bestows

Frail promises and fhort-liv'd vows.
Variety! kind fource of joy!

Without whofe aid all pleafures cloy;
Without thee, who would ever prove
The painful drudgeries of love?
Without thee, what indulgent wight
Would read what we in garrets write?
But, not to make my tale perplex'd,
And keep more closely to my text;
'Tis fit the courteous reader know
This middle-aged man had been a beau.
But, above all, his head of hair
Had been his great peculiar care;
To which his serious hours he lent,
Nor deem'd the precious time mispent,

U

}

'Twas

'Twas long, and curling, and jet black,
Hung to the middle of his back;

Black, did I fay? Ay, once 'twas so,
But cruel time had fmok'd the beau,
And powder'd o'er his head with fnow.
As an old horfe that had been hard rid,
Or from his mafter's coach difcarded,
Forc'd in a tumbril to go filler,
Or load for fome poor rogue a miller;
On his grave noddle, o'er his eyes,
Black hairs and white promifcuous rise;
Which chequer o'er his reverend pate,
And prove the keffel more fedate:
So with this worthy squire it far'd,
Yet he nor time nor labour spar'd,
But, with exceffive coft and pains,
Still made the best of his remains.
Each night beneath his cap he furl'd it,
Each morn in modifh ringlets curl'd it;
Now made his comely treffes fhine,
With orange-butter, jeffamine;
Then with sweet powder and perfumes
He purify'd his upper rooms.
So when a jockey brings a mare,
Or horfe, or gelding, to a fair,
Though he be spavin'd, old, and blind,
With founder'd feet, and broken wind;
Yet, if he 's master of his trade,

He'll curry well, and trim the jade,

Το

To make the cheat go glibly down,

And bubble fome unwary clown.

What woman made of flesh and blood,

So fweet a gallant e'er withstood?

They melt, they yield, both, both are fmitten,
The good old puss, and the young kitten;
And, being now familiar grown,

Each look'd upon him as her own;
No longer talk'd of dear, or honey,
But of plain downright matrimony.
At that dread word his worship started,
And was (we may suppose) faint-hearted;
Yet, being refolv'd to change his ftate,
Winks both his eyes, and trufts to fate.
But now new doubts and scruples rise,
To plague him with perplexities;
He knew not which, alas! to chufe,
This he must take, and that refuse.
As when fome idle country lad
Swings on a gate, his wooden pad;
To right, to left, he spurs away,
But neither here nor there can stay;
Till, by the catch furpriz'd, the lout
His journey ends, where he fet out:
Ev'n fo this dubious lover stray'd,
Between the widow and the maid;
And, after swinging to and fro,
Was juft in æquilibrio.

Yet ftill a lover's warmth he fhows,
And makes his vifits and his bows;

Domestic grown, both here and there,
Nor Pug, nor Shock, were half fo dear:
With bread and butter, and with tea,
And madam's toilet, who but he?
There fix'd a patch, or broke a comb;
At night, the widow's drawing-room.
O fweet viciffitude of love!

Who would covet heaven above,

Were men but thus allow'd to rove?
But, alas fome curs'd event,
Some unexpected accident,

Humbles our pride, and fhows the odds
Between frail mortals and the gods :
This by the sequel will appear
A truth moft evident and clear.
As on the widow's panting breast
He laid his peaceful head to reft,
Dreaming of pleasures yet in store,
And joys he ne'er had felt before;
His grizly locks appear display'd,
In all their pomp of light and fhade.
Alas! my future fpoufe, faid fhe,
What do mine eyes aftonish'd fee?
Marriage demands equality.

What will malicious neighbours fay,
Should I, a widow young and gay,
Marry a man both old and grey?
Thofe hideous hairs !-with that a tear
Did in each crystal fluice appear;