To a Friend, on His Intended Marriage

Marriage, dear M—, is a serious thing;
Tis proper every man should think it so;
'Twill either every human blessing bring,
Or load thee with a settlement of woe.

Sometimes indeed it is a middle state,
Neither supremely blest, nor deeply curst;
A stagnant pool of life, a dream of fate —
In my opinion, of all states the worst.

Observe the partner of thy future state:
If no strong vice is stamped upon her mind,
Take her; and let her ease thy amorous pain:
A little error proves her human-kind.

What we call vices are not always such;
Some virtues scarce deserve the sacred name;
Thy wife may love, as well as pray too much,
And to another stretch her rising flame.

Choose no religionist; whose every day
Is lost to thee and thine — to none a friend:
Know too, when pleasure calls the heart astray,
The warmest zealot is the blackest fiend.

Let not the fortune first engross thy care,
Let it a second estimation hold;
A Smithfield-marriage is of pleasures bare,
And love, without the purse, will soon grow cold.

Marry no lettered damsel, whose wise head
May prove it just to graft the horns on thine:
Marry no idiot, keep her from thy bed —
What the brains want will often elsewhere shine.

A disposition good, a judgment sound,
Will bring substantial pleasures in a wife:
Whilst love and tenderness in thee are found,
Happy and calm will be the married life.