The Husband, The Wife, And The Thief.

[1]      A man that loved, - and loved his wife, -      Still led an almost joyless life.      No tender look, nor gracious word,      Nor smile, that, coming from a bride,      Its object would have deified,      E'er told her doting lord      The love with which he burn'd      Was in its kind return'd.      Still unrepining at his lot,      This man, thus tied in Hymen's knot,      Thank'd God for all the good he got.      But why? If love doth fail to season      Whatever pleasures Hymen gives,      I'm sure I cannot see the reason      Why one for him the happier lives.      However, since his wife      Had ne'er caress'd him in her life,      He made complaint of it one night.      The entrance of a thief      Cut short his tale of grief,      And gave the lady such a fright,      She shrunk from dreaded harms      Within her husband's arms.      'Good thief,' cried he,      'This joy so sweet, I owe to thee:      Now take, as thy reward,      Of all that owns me lord,      Whatever suits thee save my spouse;      Ay, if thou pleasest, take the house.'      As thieves are not remarkably      O'erstock'd with modesty,      This fellow made quite free.      From this account it doth appear,      The passions all are ruled by fear.      Aversion may be conquer'd by it,      And even love may not defy it.      But still some cases there have been      Where love hath ruled the roast, I ween.      That lover, witness, highly bred,      Who burnt his house above his head,      And all to clasp a certain dame,      And bear her harmless through the flame.      This transport through the fire,      I own, I much admire;      And for a Spanish soul, reputed coolish,      I think it grander even than 'twas foolish.[2]