Punch was produced; but Punch, I trow,
Divested of his puppet-show,
Was nothing, was a thing of wires,
Whose sameness disappoints and tires.
Depriv'd of all extrinsic aid,
The empty idol was betray'd.
No artful hand to pull the springs,
And Punch no longer squeaks or sings.
Ah, me! what horror seiz'd my lord,
'Twas paint, 'twas show, 'twas pasted-board!
He marvell'd why the pleasant thing
Which could such crowds together bring;
Which charm'd him when the show was full,
At home should be so very dull.
He ne'er suspected 'twas the scenery,
He never dreamt 'twas the machinery;
The lights, the noise, the tricks, the distance,
Gave the dumb idol this assistance.
Preposterous peer! far better go
To thy congenial puppet-show;
Than buy, divested of its glare,
The empty thing which charm'd thee there.
Be still content abroad to roam,
For Punch exhibits not at home.
The moral of the tale I sing
To modern matches home I bring.
Ye youths, in quest of wives who go
To every crowded puppet-show;
If, from these scenes, you choose for life
A dancing, singing, dressing wife;
O marvel not, at home to find
An empty figure void of mind
Stript of her scenery and garnish,
A thing of paint, and paste, and varnish.
Ye candidates for earth's best prize,
Domestic life's sweet charities!
If long you've strayed from reason's way,
Enslaved by fashion's wizard sway;
If by her witcheries still betray'd,
You wed some vain fantastic maid;
Snatched, not selected, as you go,
The heroine of the puppet-show;
In every outward grace refined,
And destitute of nought but mind;
If, skilled in every polish'd art,
She want simplicity of heart;
On her for bliss if you depend,
Without the means you seek the end;
You seek, o'erturning nature's laws,
A consequence without a cause;
A downward pyramid you place,
The point inverted for the base.
Blame your own work, not fate; nor rail
If bliss so ill secured should fail.
'Tis after fancied good to roam,
"Tis bringing Punch to live at home.
And you, bright nymphs, who bless our eyes, With all that art, that taste supplies; Learn that accomplishments, at best, Are but the garnish in life's feast;
And though your transient guests may praise
Your showy board on gala days;
Yet while you treat each frippery sinner
With mere deserts, and call 'em dinner,
Your lord, who lives at home, still feels
The want of more substantial meals;
Of sense and worth, which every hour
Enlarge affection's growing power:
Of worth, not emulous of praise,
Of sense, not kept for gala days.
O! in the highest, happiest lot,
By woman be it ne'er forgot,
That human life's no Isthmian game,
Where sports and shows must purchase fame.
Though at the puppet-show he shone,
Punch was poor company alone.
Life is no round of jocund hours,
Of garlands gay, and festive bowers;
E'en to the young, to whom I sing,
Its serious business life will bring.
Though bright the suns which now appear
To gild your cloudless atmosphere,
Oft unawares, some direful storm
Serenest skies may soon deform;
In dim affliction's dreary hour,
The flash of mirth must lose its power;
While faith a constant light supplies,
And virtue cheers the darkest skies.
To bless the matrimonial hours,
Must three joint leaders club their powers;
Good-nature, piety, and sense
Must their confederate aids dispense.
As the soft powers of oil assuage
Of ocean's waves the furious rage;
Lull to repose the boiling tide,
And the rough billows bid subside,
Till every angry motion sleep,
Aud softest tremblings hush the deep;
Good-nature! thus thy charms control
The tumults of the troubled soul;
By labour worn, by care opprest,
On thee the wearied head shall rest;
From business and distraction free,
Delighted, shall return to thee;
To thee the aching heart shall cling,
And find that peace it does not bring.
And while the light and empty fair,
Form'd for the ball-room's dazzling glare;
Abroad, of speech so prompt and rapid,
At home, so vacant and so vapid;
Of every puppet-show the life,
At home a dull and tasteless wife ;-
The mind with sense and knowledge stored
Can counsel or can soothe its lord;
His varied joys or sorrows feel,
And share the pains it cannot heal.
But Piety! without thy aid,
Love's fairest prospects soon must fade,
Blest architect! reared by thy hands,
Connubial concord's temple stands.
Though wit, though genius, raise the pile,
Though taste assist, though talents smile,
Though fashion, while her wreathes she twine,
Her light Corinthian columns join;
Still the frail structure fancy rears,
A tottering house of cards appears;
Some sudden gust, nor rare the case,
May shake the building to its base,
Unless, blest Piety! thou join,
Thy key-stone to insure the shrine;
Unless to guard against surprises,
On thy broad arch the temple rises.
GOOD Dan and Jane were man and wife,
And lived a loving kind of life;
One point, however, they disputed,
And each by turns his mate confuted.
'Twas faith and works-this knotty question They found not easy of digestion.
While Dan for faith alone contended,
Jane equally good works defended.
"They are not Christians sure, but Turks,
"Who build on faith and scoff at works,"
Quoth Jane ;-while eager Dan replied,
"By none but heathens faith's denied."
"I'll tell you, wife," at length quoth Dan,
"A story of a right good man.
"A patriarch sage, of ancient days,
"A man of faith, whom all must praise.
"In his own country he possess'd
"Whate'er can make a wise man blest;
"His was the flock, the field, the spring,
"In short, a little rural king.
"Yet, pleased, he quits his native land,
By faith in the divine command.
"God bade him go; and he, content,
"Went forth, not knowing where he went.
"He trusted in the promise made,
"And, undisputing, straight obey'd.
"The heavenly word he did not doubt,
"But prov'd his faith by going out."
Jane answer'd, with some little pride"I've an example on my side;
"And though my tale be somewhat longer, "I trust you'll find it vastly stronger.
"I'll tell you, Daniel, of a man,
"The holiest since the world began;
"Who now God's favour is receiving,
"For prompt obeying not believing.
"One only son this man possest,
"In whom his righteous age was blest;
"And more to mark the grace of Heaven,
"This son by miracle was given.
"And from this child the word divine
"Had promised an illustrious line,
"When, lo! at once a voice he hears,
"Which sounds like thunder in his ears.
"God says-go sacrifice thy son!
"This moment, Lord, it shall be done.
"He goes, and instantly prepares,
"To slay this child of many prayers.
"Now, here you see the grand expedience,
"Of works, of actual sound obedience.
"This was not faith, but act and deed,
"The Lord commands-the child shall bleed.
"Thus Abraham acted," Jenny cried;
"Thus Abraham trusted," Dan replied.
"Abraham!" quoth Jane, "why that's my man,"
"No, Abraham's him I mean," says Dan.
"He stands a monument of faith ;"
"No, 'tis for works, the scripture saith."
""Tis for his faith that I defend him :"
"'Tis for obedience I commend him."
Thus he thus she-both warmly feel,
And lose their temper in their zeal ;
Too quick each other's choice to blame,
They did not see each meant the same.
"At length, good wife," said honest Dan,
"We're talking of the self-same man.
"The works you praise I own, indeed,
"Grow from that faith for which I plead;
"And Abraham, whom for faith I quote,
"For works deserves especial note:
""Tis not enough of faith to talk,
"A man of God, with God must walk:
"Our doctrines are, at last, the same,
66 They only differ in the name.
"The faith I fight for, is the root;
"The works you value, are the fruit.
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