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by Lady Mary Chudleigh | |

The Wish

 Remember that time you made the wish?

 I make a lot of wishes.
The time I lied to you about the butterfly.
I always wondered what you wished for.
What do you think I wished for? I don't know.
That I'd come back, that we'd somehow be together in the end.
I wished for what I always wish for.
I wished for another poem.


by Lady Mary Chudleigh | |

The Wish

 Would but indulgent Fortune send
To me a kind, and faithful Friend,
One who to Virtue's Laws is true,
And does her nicest Rules pursue;
One Pious, Lib'ral, Just and Brave,
And to his Passions not a Slave;
Who full of Honour, void of Pride,
Will freely praise, and freely chide;
But not indulge the smallest Fault,
Nor entertain one slighting Thought:
Who still the same will ever prove,
Will still instruct ans still will love:
In whom I safely may confide,
And with him all my Cares divide:
Who has a large capacious Mind,
Join'd with a Knowledge unconfin'd:
A Reason bright, a Judgement true,
A Wit both quick, and solid too:
Who can of all things talk with Ease,
And whose Converse will ever please:
Who charm'd with Wit, and inward Graces,
Despises Fools with tempting Faces;
And still a beauteous Mind does prize
Above the most enchanting Eyes:
I would not envy Queens their State,
Nor once desire a happier Fate.


by Lady Mary Chudleigh | |

To the Ladies.

 WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name : 
For when that fatal knot is ty'd, 
Which nothing, nothing can divide : 
When she the word obey has said, 
And man by law supreme has made, 
Then all that's kind is laid aside, 
And nothing left but state and pride : 
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows, 
And all his innate rigour shows : 
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak, 
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make, And never any freedom take : But still be govern'd by a nod, And fear her husband as a God : Him still must serve, him still obey, And nothing act, and nothing say, But what her haughty lord thinks fit, Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state, And all the fawning flatt'rers hate : Value yourselves, and men despise : You must be proud, if you'll be wise.