The Husband, the Wife, and the Thief

A man that loved, -- and loved his wife, -- / Still led an almost joyless life. / No tender look, nor gracious word, / Nor smile, that, coming from a bride, / Its object would have deified, / E'er told her doting lord / The love with which he burn'd / Was in its kind return'd. / Still unrepining at his lot, / This man, thus tied in Hymen's knot, / Thank'd God for all the good he got. / But why? If love doth fail to season / Whatever pleasures Hymen gives, / I'm sure I cannot see the reason / Why one for him the happier lives. / However, since his wife / Had ne'er caress'd him in her life, / He made complaint of it one night. / The entrance of a thief / Cut short his tale of grief, / And gave the lady such a fright, / She shrunk from dreaded harms / Within her husband's arms. / 'Good thief,' cried he, / 'This joy so sweet, I owe to thee: / Now take, as thy reward, / Of all that owns me lord, / Whatever suits thee save my spouse; / Ay, if thou pleasest, take the house. ' / As thieves are not remarkably / O'erstock'd with modesty, / This fellow made quite free.

From this account it doth appear, / The passions all are ruled by fear. / Aversion may be conquer'd by it, / And even love may not defy it. / But still some cases there have been / Where love hath ruled the roast, I ween. / That lover, witness, highly bred, / Who burnt his house above his head, / And all to clasp a certain dame, / And bear her harmless through the flame. / This transport through the fire, / I own, I much admire; / And for a Spanish soul, reputed coolish, / I think it grander even than 'twas foolish.[1][2]