A worthy squire of sober life,
Had a conceited boasting wife;
Of him she dally made complaint,
Herself she thought a very saint.
She lov'd to load mankind with blame,
And on their errors build her fame.
Her fav'rite subject of dispute
Was Eve and the forbidden fruit.
“Had I been Eve,” she often cried,
“Man had not fall'n, nor woman died;
“I still had kept the orders giv'n,
“Nor for an apple lost my heaven;
“To gratify my curious mind
“I ne'er had ruin'd all mankind;
“Nor from a vain desire to know,
“Entail'd on all my race such wo.”
The squire replied, “I fear 'tis true,
“The same ill spirit lives in you;
“Tempted alike, I dare believe,
“You would have disobey'd, like Eve.”
The lady storm'd, and still denied
Sin, curiosity, and pride.
The squire, some future day at dinner,
Resolved to try this boastful sinner;
He griev'd such vanity possess'd her,
And thus in serious terms address'd her:
“Madam, the usual splendid feast,
“With which our wedding-day is graced,
“With you I must not share to-day,
For business summons me away.
Of all the dainties I've prepar'd,
“I beg not any may be spared,
“Indulge in every costly dish,
“Enjoy, 'tis what I really wish;
“Only observe one prohibition,
“Nor think it a severe condition;
“On one small dish which cover'd stands
“You must not dare to lay your hands;
“Go—disobey not, on your life,
“Or henceforth you're no more my wife.”
The treat was serv'd, the squire was gone,
The murm'ring lady dined alone:
She saw whate'er could grace a feast,
Or charm the eye, or please the taste;
But while she rang'd from this to that,
From ven'son baunch to turtle fat;
On one small dish she chanced to light,
By a deep cover hid from sight:
“O! here it is—yet not for me!
“I must not taste, nay, dare not see;
“Why place it there? or why forbid
“That I so much as lift the lid?
“Prohibited of this to eat,
“I care not for the sumptuous treat;
“I wonder if 'tis fowl or fish,
“To know what's there I merely wish.
“I'll look—O no, I lose for ever,
“If I'm betray'd, my husband's favour.
“I own I think it vastly hard,
“Nay tyranny, to be debarr'd.
“John, you may go—the wine's decanted,
“I'll ring or call you when you're wanted.”
Now left alone, she waits no longer;
Temptation presses more and stronger.
“I'll peep—the harm can ne'er be much,
“For though I peep, I will not touch;
“Why I'm forbid to lift this cover,
“One glance will tell, and then 'tis over.
“My husband's absent, so is John,
“My peeping never can be known.”
Trembling, she yielded to her wish,
And rais'd the cover from the dish:
She starts—for, lo! an open pie
From which six living sparrows fly.
She calls, she screams, with wild surprise,
“Haste, John, and catch these birds,” she cries.
John hears not; but to crown her shame,
In at her call her husband came.
Sternly he frown'd as thus he spoke:
“Thus is your vow'd allegiance broke!
“Self-ignorance led you to believe
“You did not share the sin of Eve.
“Like hers, how blest was your condition!
“Like heaven's, how small my prohibition!
“Yet you, though fed with ev'ry dainty,
“Sat pining in the midst of plenty;
“This dish, thus singled from the rest,
“Of your obedience was the test;
“Your mind, unbroke by self-denial,
“Could not sustain this slender trial.
“Humility from this be taught,
“Learn candour to another's fault;
“Go know, like Eve, from this sad dinner,
“You're both a vain and curious sinner.”