Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A TRUE TALE TO MRS. J - S. WRITTEN AT HER REQUEST, by MARY CHANDLER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A TRUE TALE TO MRS. J - S. WRITTEN AT HER REQUEST, by                    
First Line: Why madam, must I tell this idle tale?
Last Line: We met as lovers, and we parted friends.
Subject(s): Love - Loss Of


WHY, Madam, must I tell this idle tale?
You want to laugh. Then do so, if you will.
Thus take it, as it was, the best I can;
And laugh at me, but not my little man:
For he was very good, and clean, and civil,
And, though his taste was odd, you own not evil.
You know one loves an apple, one an onion;
One man's a Papist, one is a Socinian:
We differ in our taste, as in opinion.
Not often reason guides us; more, caprice,
Or accident, or fancy: so in this.
His person pleased, and honest was his fame;
'Tis true there was no music in his name,
But, had I changed for A the letter U,
It would sound grand, and musically too,
And would have made a figure. At my shop
I saw him first, and thought he'd eat me up.
I stared, and wondered who this man could be,
So full of complaisance, and all to me:
But when he'd bought his gloves, and said his say,
He made his civil scrape, and went away.
I never dreamed I e'er should see him more,
Glad when he turned his back, and shut the door.
But when his wond'rous message he declared,
I never in my life was half so scared!
Fourscore long miles, to buy a crooked wife!
Old too! I thought the oddest thing in life;
And said, 'Sir, you're in jest, and very free;
But, pray, how came you, Sir, to think of me?'
This civil answer I'll suppose was true:
'That he had both our happiness in view.
He sought me as one formed to make a friend,
To help life glide more smoothly near its end,
To aid his virtue, and direct his purse,
For he was much too well to want a nurse.'
He made no high-flown compliment but this:
'He thought to've found my person more amiss.
No fortune hoped; and,' which is stranger yet,
'Expected to have bought me off in debt!
And offered me my Wish, which he had read,
For 'twas my Wish that put me in his head.'
Far distant from my thoughts a husband, when
Those simple lines dropped, honest, from my pen!

Much more, he spake, but I have half forgot:
I went to bed, but could not sleep a jot.
A thing so unexpected, and so new!
Of so great consequence -- So generous too!
I own it made me pause for half that night:
Then waked, and soon recovered from my fright;
Resolved, and put an end to the affair:
So great a change, thus late, I could not bear;
And answered thus: 'No, good Sir, for my life,
I cannot now obey, nor be a wife.
At fifty-four, when hoary age has shed
Its winter's snow, and whitened o'er my head,
Love is a language foreign to my tongue:
I could have learned it once, when I was young,
But now quite other things my wish employs:
Peace, liberty, and sun, to gild my days.
I dare not put to sea so near my home,
Nor want a gale to waft me to my tomb.
The smoke of Hymen's lamp may cloud the skies,
And adverse winds from different quarters rise.
I want no heaps of gold; I hate all dress,
And equipage. The cow provides my mess.
'Tis true, a chariot's a convenient thing;
But then perhaps, Sir, you may hold the string.
I'd rather walk alone my own slow pace,
Than drive with six, unless I choose the place.
Imprisoned in a coach, I should repine:
The chaise I hire, I drive and call it mine.
And, when I will, I ramble, or retire
To my own room, own bed, my garden, fire;
Take up my book, or trifle with my pen;
And, when I'm weary, lay them down again:
No questions asked; no master in the spleen --
I would not change my state to be a queen.
Your great estate would nothing add to me,
But care, and toil, and loss of liberty.
Your offer does me honour, I confess;
And, in your next, I wish you more success.'

And thus this whole affair begins and ends:
We met as lovers, and we parted friends.





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