Convinc’d a married, is the happiest life,
Long have I sought the blessing of a wife.
For fifteen years in vain the search I’ve made;
From miss in teens to damsel in brocade.
Some are too embonpoint and some too slim,
The young too flighty and the aged too prim.
I ask complexion fair, the sparkling eye,
Of sensibility — the soft reply,
Of temper’s well controll’d and magic art;
Actions that prove the language of the heart
A mind where information yields the treat,
Not of pedantic lore, but converse sweet;
Where science oft with poetry unite
The festive hour, with pleasure to requite.
No votary of fashion — elegance and ease
In every action mark the wish to please.
No being this of the distempered brain
Of love-sick fancy pleased when most in pain.
The form I’ve seen, the mind at distance known,
That can each long sought, wish’d perfection own,
For we have met at scenes of mimic mirth,
When conscious diffidence of lesser worth;
Repress’d the language of th’ aspiring heart,
And crushed the hope it labor’d to impart,
Yet when a thousand mimic Cupid’s pain
A real love surely may complain;
With truth his tender Valentine prepare,
And hope that you’ll not doom him to despair.