Work for a Cooper: a Tale

A man may lead a happy life,
Without that needful thing, a wife:
This long have lusty Abbots known,
Who ne'er knew spouses — of their own.

What, though your house be clean and neat,
With couches, chairs, and beds complete;
Though you each day invite a friend,
Though he should ev'ry dish commend,
On Bagshot-heath your mutton fed,
Your fowls at Brentford born and bred;
Though purest wine your cellars boast,
Wine worthy of the fairest toast;
Yet there are other things requir'd:
Ring, and let's see the maid you hir'd —
Bless me! those hands might hold a broom,
Twirl round a mop, and wash a room:
A bachelor his maid should keep,
Not for that servile use to sweep,
Let her his humour understand,
And turn to ev'ry thing her hand.
Get you a lass that's young and tight,
Whose arms are, like her apron, white;
What though her shift be seldom seen?
Let that though coarse be always clean;
She might each morn your tea attend,
And on your wrist your ruffle mend;
Then if you break a roguish jest,
Or squeeze her hand, or pat her breast,
She cries, oh dear Sir, don't be naught!
And blushes speak her last night's fault.
To her your household cares confide,
Let your keys jingle at her side,
A footman's blunders tease and fret ye,
E'en while you chide, you smile on Betty.
Discharge him then, if he's too spruce,
For Betty's for his master's use.
Will you your am'rous fancy baulk,
For fear some prudish neighbour talk?
But you'll object, that you're afraid
Of the pert freedoms of a maid;

Besides your wiser heads will say,
That she who turns her hand this way,
From one vice to another drawn,
Will lodge your silver spoons in pawn.
Has not the homely wrinkled jade
More need to learn the pilfring trade?
For love all Betty's wants supplies,
Laces her shoes, her manteau dyes,
All her stuff suits she flings away,
And wears thread satin every day.

Who then a dirty drab would hire,
Brown as the hearth of kitchen fire?
When all must own, were Betty put
To the black duties of the slut,
As well she scowers or scrubs a floor,
And still is good for something more.

Thus, to avoid the greater vice,
I knew a Priest, of conscience nice,
To quell his lust for neighbour's spouse,
Keep fornication in his house.

But you're impatient all this time,
Fret at my counsel, curse my rhyme.
Be satisfied. I'll talk no more,
For thus my tale begins — Of yore
There dwelt at Blois a Priest full fair,
With rolling eye and crisped hair,
His chin hung low, his brow was sleek,
Plenty lay basking on his cheek,
Whole days at cloister grates he sat,
Ogled, and talk'd of this and that
So feelingly; the Nuns lamented
That double bars were e'er invented.
If he the wanton wife confest
With downcast eye, and heaving breast;
He strok'd her cheek to still her fear,
And talk'd of sins en Cavalier,
Each time enjoin'd her penance mild,
And fondled on her like his child.
At ev'ry jovial gossip's feast
Pere Bernard was a welcome guest;

Mirth suffer'd not the least restraint,
He could at will shake off the saint:
Nor frown'd he when they freely spoke,
But shook his sides, and took the joke;
Nor fail'd he to promote the jest,
And shar'd the sins which they confest.

Yet that he might not always roam,
He kept conveniences at home.
His maid was in the bloom of beauty,
Well-limb'd for ev'ry social duty;

He meddled with no household cares,
To her consign'd his whole affairs;
She of his study kept the keys,
For he was studious — of his ease:
She had the power of all his locks,
Could rummage ev'ry chest and box,
Her honesty such credit gain'd,
Not ev'n the cellar was restrain'd.

In troth it was a goodly show,
Lined with full hogsheads all a-row;

One vessel, from the rank removed,
Far dearer than the rest he loved.
Pour la bonne bouche 'twas set aside,
To all but choicest friends denied.
He now and then would send a quart,
To warm some wife's retentive heart,
Against confession's sullen hour:
Wine has all secrets in its power.
At common feasts it had been waste.
Nor was it fit for layman's taste,
If monk or friar were his guest,
They drank it, for they know the best.
Nay, he at length so fond was grown,
He always drank it when — alone.
Who shall recount his civil labours,
In pious visits to his neighbours?
Whene'er weak husbands went astray,
He guest their wives were in the way,
'Twas then his charity was shown,
He chose to see them when alone.

Now was he bent on cuckoldom:
He knew friend Dennis was from home;
His wife (a poor neglected beauty,
Defrauded of a husband's duty)
Had often told him at confession,
How hard she struggled 'gainst transgression.
He now resolves, in heat of blood,
To try how firm her virtue stood.
He knew that wine (to love best aid)
Has oft made bold the shamefaced maid,
Taught her to romp, and take more freedoms,
Than nymphs train'd up at Smith's or Needham's.

A mighty bottle straight he chose,
Such as might give two Friars their dose:
Nannette he call'd: the cellar door
She straight unlocks, descends before,
He follow'd close. But when he spies
His fav'rite cask; with lifted eyes
And lifted hands aloud he cries,
Heigh day! my darling wine astoop!

It must, alas! have sprung a hoop;
That there's a leak is past all doubt,
(Replied the maid) — I'll find it out.
She sets the candle down in haste,
Tucks her white apron round her waist,
The hogsheads mouldy side ascends,
She straddles wide, and downward bends;
So low she stoops to seek the flaw,
Her coats rose high, her master saw —
I see — he cries — (then claspt her fast)
The leak through which my wine has past.
Then all in haste the maid descended,
And in a trice the leak was mended.
He found in Nannette all he wanted,
So Dennis' brows remain'd unplanted.

Ere since this time all lusty Friars
(Warm'd with predominant desires,
Whene'er the flesh with spirit quarrels)
Look on the sex as leaky barrels.
Beware of these, ye jealous spouses,
From such like coopers guard your houses;
For if they find not work at home,
For jobs through all the town they roam.