Such were the future man and wife!
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life
A few short words were to settle-
Wilt thou have this woman?
I will-and then,
Wilt thou have this man?
I will, and Amen
And those Two were one Flesh, in the Angels' ken,
Except one Leg-that was metal.
Then the names were signed-and kiss'd the kiss:
And the Bride, who came from her coach a Miss,
As a Countess walk'd to her carriage-
Whilst Hymen preen'd his plumes like a dove,
And Cupid flutter'd his wings above,
In the shape of a fly-as little a Love
As ever look'd in at a marriage!
Another crash-and away they dash'd,
And the gilded carriage and footmen flash'd
From the eyes of the gaping people-
Who turn'd to gaze at the toe-and-heel
Of the Golden Boys beginning a reel,
To the merry sound of a wedding peal
From St. James's musical steeple.
Those wedding-bells! those wedding-bells!
How sweetly they sound in pastoral dells
From a tow'r in an ivy-green jacket!
But town-made joys how dearly they cost;
And after all are tumbled and tost,
Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost
In town-made riot and racket.
The wedding-peal, how sweetly it peals
With grass or heather beneath our heels,—
For bells are Music's laughter!-
But a London peal, well mingled, be sure,
With vulgar noises and voices impure,
What a harsh and discordant overture,
To the Harmony meant to come after!
But hence with Discord-perchance, too soon
To cloud the face of the honeymoon
With a dismal occultation!
Whatever Fate's concerted trick,
The Countess and Count, at the present nick,
Have a chicken and not a crow to pick
At a sumptuous Cold Collation.
A Breakfast-no unsubstantial mess,
But one in the style of Good Queen Bess,
Who, hearty as hippocampus,——
Broke her fast with ale and beef,
Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf,
And in lieu of anchovy-grampus!
A breakfast of fowl, and fish, and flesh,
Whatever was sweet, or salt, or fresh;
With wines the most rare and curious-
Wines, of the richest flavor and hue;
With fruits from the worlds both Old and New;
And fruits obtained before they were due
At a discount most usurious.
For wealthy palates there be that scout
What is in season, for what is out,
And prefer all precocious savor:
For instance, early green peas, of the sort
That costs some four or five guineas a quart:
Where the Mint is the principal flavor.
And many a wealthy man was there,
Such as the wealthy City could spare,
To put in a portly appearance-
Men whom their fathers had help'd to gild:
And men who had had their fortunes to build,
And much to their credit-had richly fill'd
Their purses by pursy-verance.
Men, by popular rumor at least,
Not the last to enjoy a feast!
And truly they were not idle!
Luckier far than the chestnut tits,
Which, down at the door, stood champing their bitts,
At a different sort of bridle.
For the time was come-and the whisker'd Count
Help'd his Bride in the carriage to mount,
And fain would the Muse deny it,
But the crowd, including two butchers in blue
(The regular killing Whitechapel hue),
Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view,
As if they had come to buy it!
Then away! away! with all the speed
That golden spurs can give to the steed,-
Both Yellow Boys and Guineas indeed,
Concurr'd to urge the cattle-
Away they went, with favors white,
Yellow jackets, and pannels bright,
And left the mob, like a mob at night,
Agape at the sound of a rattle.
Away! away! they rattled and roll'd,
The Count, and his Bride, and her Leg of Gold-
That faded charm to the charmer!
Away,-through Old Brentford rang the din,
Of wheels and heels, on their way to win
That hill, named after one of her kin,
The Hill of the Golden Farmer!
Gold, still Gold-it flew like dust!
It tipp'd the post-boy, and paid the trust;
In each open palm it was freely thrust;
There was nothing but giving and taking!
And if gold could ensure the future hour,
What hopes attended that Bride to her bow'r,
But alas! even hearts with a four-horse pow'r
Of opulence end in breaking!
The moon-the moon, so silver and cold,
Her fickle temper has oft been told,
Now shady-now bright and sunny-
But of all the lunar things that change,
The one that shows most fickle and strange,
And takes the most eccentric range
Is the moon-so called-of honey!
To some a full-grown orb reveal'd,
As big and as round as Norval's shield,
And as bright as a burner Bude-lighted;
To others as dull, and dingy, and damp,
As any oleaginous lamp,
Of the regular old parochial stamp,
In a London fog benighted.
To the loving, a bright and constant sphere,
That makes earth's commonest scenes appear
All poetic, romantic and tender:
Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump,
And investing a common post, or a pump,
A currant-bush, or a gooseberry clump,
With a halo of dreamlike splendor.
A sphere such as shone from Italian skies,
In Juliet's dear, dark, liquid eyes,
Tipping trees with its argent braveries-
And to couples not favor'd with Fortune's boons,
One of the most delightful of moons,
For it brightens their pewter platters and spoons Like a silver service of Savory's!
For all is bright, and beauteous, and clear,
And the meanest thing most precious and dear
When the magic of love is present:
Love, that lends a sweetness and grace
To the humblest spot and the plainest face—
Love that sweetens sugarless tea,
And makes contentment and joy agree
With the coarsest boarding and bedding:
Love that no golden ties can attach,
But nestles under the humblest thatch,
And will fly away from an Emperor's match
To dance at a Penny Wedding!
Oh, happy, happy, thrice happy state,
When such a bright Planet governs the fate
Of a pair of united lovers!
'Tis theirs, in spite of the Serpent's hiss,
To enjoy the pure primeval kiss,
With as much of the old original bliss
As mortality ever recovers!
There's strength in double joints, no doubt,
In double X Ale, and Dublin Stout,
That the single sorts know nothing about-
And a fist is strongest when doubled-
And double aqua-fortis, of course,
And double soda-water, perforce,
Are the strongest that ever bubbled!
There's double beauty whenever a Swan
Swims on a Lake, with her double thereon:
And ask the gardener, Luke or John,
Of the beauty of double-blowing-
A double dahlia delights the eye;
And it's far the loveliest sight in the sky
When a double rainbow is glowing!
There's warmth in a pair of double soles;
As well as a double allowance of coals-
In a coat that is double-breasted-
In double windows and double doors;
And a double U wind is blest by scores
For its warmth to the tender-chested.
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