
A citizen and his wife ride together on one horse, the wife seated behind her husband, and the poem's speaker, riding along the same road, overtakes them and notices the citizen turn back to steal a kiss from his wife's lips. Reading this as a sign that the man is congenial, the speaker resolves to strike up acquaintance with him and begins casting about for suitable topics of conversation: the count of the plaguing bill, whether the custom farmers still hold their posts, the Virginian plot, whether Ward has disrupted the traffic of the island seas, whether the Britain Burse is filling up and threatening to outshine the Exchange, the newly built Aldgate, the Moor-field crosses, and the number of bankrupts and poor merchants' losses. The citizen answers only in mute yeas and nays, as sparing of words as an old courtier down to his last suit, until the speaker shifts the subject to tradesmen's gains, which finally sets the man's tongue going. The citizen launches into a lament that there is no doing business in court or city now, a complaint at which his wife smiles and the speaker privately shares her silent skepticism. The citizen presses on with increasing heat, praising only the days of my Lord of Essex as the true age of action, and railing against the present as an age of great appetite for bravery and borrowing but no willingness to pay debts when called to account. He declares that the city's only trades of hope now are bawds, tavern-keepers, whores, and scriveners, blaming the abundance of privileged kinsmen and fresh protections for impoverishing everyone else, and insisting that though many stand firm in their first estate, not one proves a righteous paymaster. His talk grows so heated and unreasonable that the speaker sweats for fear it might be taken as treasonous speech, especially when the citizen swears that no one could say amen with faith to the prayer for the wise Lord Mayor and his brethren. Eager to escape this dangerous harangue, the speaker is relieved when an inn's sign appears, a well-known and well-tried house where many citizens have brought their wives before. He urges the citizen to stop there for refreshment, but the citizen refuses and rides on, looking as stricken as a man who hid gold and returned to find only a rope in its place, even though the wife would have willingly stayed. The speaker, recognizing his missed opportunity, shakes hands with the citizen and asks where he lives so their acquaintance might continue. The citizen names only the street, in vague terms, and promises to share wine together another time, but it is his wife who, by a knowing look, gives the speaker the true sign of where to find them.
By John Donne · First published 1633 · Genre: Satire, Narrative Poetry, Social Commentary · 902 words
I sing no harm, good sooth, to any wight, / To lord or fool, cuckold, beggar, or knight, / To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave / Reformed or reducèd captain, knave, / Officer, juggler, or justice of peace, / Juror or judge; I touch no fat sow's grease; / I am no libeller, nor will be any, / But-like a true man-say there are too many. / I fear not ore tenus; for my tale / Nor count nor counsellor will look red or pale.
A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife is listed on Textopian as a short story by John Donne, dated 1633 CE.
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marriage · domestic-life · love-and-relationships · social-commentary · metaphysical · seventeenth-century · English-literature · poetic-narrative · spousal-relations · urban-life · romantic · philosophical