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A Simile
IN a Devonshire lane, as I trotted along | |
| T’ other day, much in want of a subject for song, | |
| Thinks I to myself I have hit on a strain,— | |
| Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane. | |
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| In the first place ’t is long, and when once you are in it, | 5 |
| It holds you as fast as the cage holds a linnet; | |
| For howe’er rough and dirty the road may be found, | |
| Drive forward you must, since there ’s no turning round. | |
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| But though ’t is so long, it is not very wide,— | |
| For two are the most that together can ride; | 10 |
| And even then ’t is a chance but they get in a pother, | |
| And jostle and cross and run foul of each other. | |
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| Oft Poverty greets them with mendicant looks, | |
| And Care pushes by them o’erladen with crooks, | |
| And Strife’s grating wheels try between them to pass, | 15 |
| Or Stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass. | |
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| Then the banks are so high, both to left hand and right, | |
| That they shut up the beauties around from the sight; | |
| And hence you ’ll allow,—’t is an inference plain,— | |
| That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. | 20 |
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| But, thinks I too, these banks within which we are pent, | |
| With bud, blossom, and berry are richly besprent; | |
| And the conjugal fence which forbids us to roam | |
| Looks lovely, when decked with the comforts of home. | |
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| In the rock’s gloomy crevice the bright holly grows, | 25 |
| The ivy waves fresh o’er the withering rose, | |
| And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife | |
| Smooths the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life. | |
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| Then long be the journey and narrow the way! | |
| I ’ll rejoice that I ’ve seldom a turnpike to pay; | 30 |
| And, whate’er others think, be the last to complain, | |
| Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane. | |
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