Plea For Trigamy, A

I've been trying to fashion a wifely ideal,
    And find that my tastes are so far from concise
That, to marry completely, no fewer than three'll
                    Suffice

I've subjected my views to severe atmospheric
    Compression, but still, in defiance of force,
They distinctly fall under three heads, like a cleric
                    Discourse.

My first must be fashion's own fancy-bred daughter,
    Proud, peerless, and perfect in fact, comme il faut;
A waltzer and wit of the very first water
                    For show.

But these beauties that serve to make all the men jealous,
    Once face them alone in the family cot,
Heaven's angels incarnate (the novelists tell us)
                    They're not.

But so much for appearances. Now for my second,
    My lover, the wife of my home and my heart:
Of all fortune and fate of my life to be reckon'd
                    A part.

She must know all the needs of a rational being,
    Be skilled to keep counsel, to comfort, to coax;
And, above all things else, be accomplished at seeing
                    My jokes.

I complete the ménage by including the other
    With all the domestic prestige of a hen:
As my housekeeper, nurse, or it may be, a mother
                    Of men.

Total three! and the virtues all well represented;
    With fewer than this such a thing can't be done;
Though I've known married men who declare they're contented
                    With one.

Would you hunt during harvest, or hay-make in winter?
    And how can one woman expect to combine
Certain qualifications essentially inter-
                    necine?

You may say that my prospects are (legally) sunless;
    I state that I find them as clear as can be:-
I will marry no wife, since I can't do with one less
                    Than three.

Owen Seaman

Owen Seaman

Owen Seaman, an English poet born on September 18, 1861, and passed away on February 2, 1936, is most renowned for his tenure as the editor of the satirical magazine "Punch." His work is characterized by its wit and humor, often addressing social and political issues of his time. Seaman's influence on literary and journalistic satire was significant, and he contributed greatly to the popularization of this style in English literature during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Owen Seaman

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Bedfordshire Ballad. - I.

    THE TWO MAIDENS.


    [The following Verses were written for a country Penny Reading].

    Two Bedfordshire maidens in one village dwelt;
    Side by side in their Church every Sunday they knelt;
    They were not very pretty and not very plain;
    And their names were Eliza and Emily Jane.

    Now Carpenter Smith was young, steady and still,
    And wherever he went, worked and played with a will:
    To bed he went early, and early did rise;
    So, of course, he was healthy, and wealthy, and wise.

    But John he grew tired of a bachelor's life,
    So he looked all around him in search of a wife;
    And his eyes, as they wandered, again and again
    Returned to Eliza and Emily Jane.

    And whenever those maidens encountered...

Edward Woodley Bowling

Not Married Yet!

I'm single yet--I'm single yet!
    And years have flown since I came out!
In vain I sigh--in vain I fret--
    Ye gods! what are the men about?
I vow I'm twenty!--O ye powers!
    A spinster's lot is hard to bear--
On earth alone to pass her hours,
    And afterward lead apes--DOWN THERE!

No offer yet--no offer yet!
    I'm puzzled quite to make it out:
For every beau my cap I set--
    What, what, what ARE the men about?
They don't propose--they WON'T propose,
    For fear, perhaps, I'd not say, "Yes!"
Just let them try--for Heaven knows
    I'm tired of single-blessedness.

Not married yet--not married yet--
    The deuce is in the men, I fear!
I'm like a--something to be let,
    And to be LET ALONE--that's clear.
They say, "...

George Pope Morris

The Ill-Married.

If worth, were not a thing more rare
Than beauty in this planet fair,
There would be then less need of care
About the contracts Hymen closes.
But beauty often is the bait
To love that only ends in hate;
And many hence repent too late
Of wedding thorns from wooing roses.[1]
My tale makes one of these poor fellows,
Who sought relief from marriage vows,
Send back again his tedious spouse,
Contentious, covetous, and jealous,
With nothing pleased or satisfied,
This restless, comfort-killing bride
Some fault in every one descried.
Her good man went to bed too soon,
Or lay in bed till almost noon.
Too cold, too hot, - too black, too white, -
Were on her tongue from morn till night.
The servants mad and madder grew;
The husband knew not ...

Jean de La Fontaine

Her Terms

My wedded life
Must every pleasure bring
On scale extensive!
If I'm your wife
I must have everything
That's most expensive -
A lady's-maid -
(My hair alone to do
I am not able) -
And I'm afraid
I've been accustomed to
A first-rate table.
These things one must consider when one marries -
And everything I wear must come from Paris!
Oh, think of that!
Oh, think of that!
I can't wear anything that's not from Paris!
From top to toes
Quite Frenchified I am,
If you examine.
And then - who knows? -
Perhaps some day a fam -
Perhaps a famine!
My argument's correct, if you examine,
What should we do, if there should come a f-famine!

Though in green pea
Yourself you needn't stint
In July sunny,
In Januaree<...

William Schwenck Gilbert

The Poet Loves A Mistress, But Not To Marry.

I do not love to wed,
Though I do like to woo;
And for a maidenhead
I'll beg and buy it too.

I'll praise and I'll approve
Those maids that never vary;
And fervently I'll love,
But yet I would not marry.

I'll hug, I'll kiss, I'll play,
And, cock-like, hens I'll tread,
And sport it any way
But in the bridal bed.

For why? that man is poor
Who hath but one of many,
But crown'd he is with store
That, single, may have any.

Why then, say, what is he,
To freedom so unknown,
Who, having two or three,
Will be content with one?

Robert Herrick

Will Nobody Marry Me?

Heigh-ho! for a husband!--Heigh-ho!
    There's danger in longer delay!
Shall I never again have a beau?
    Will nobody marry me, pray!
I begin to feel strange, I declare!
    With beauty my prospects will fade--
I'd give myself up to despair
    If I thought I should die an old maid!

I once cut the beaux in a huff--
    I thought it a sin and a shame
That no one had spirit enough
    To ask me to alter my name.
So I turned up my nose at the short,
    And cast down my eyes at the tall;
But then I just did it in sport--
    And now I've no lover at all!

These men are the plague of my life:
    'Tis hard from so many to choose!
Should any one wish for a wife,
    Could I have the heart to refuse?
I don't know--for none have prop...

George Pope Morris