Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 36.djvu/134

112 Such fare might suit with Saturn's age, 'Tis now but talked of by the sage. Three sticks support two rotten boards, Such table that poor hut affords; At this our couple sat at meat, Each oddly placed on narrow seat; The husband sadly hung his head, The bride a thousand gay things said; Wit she combined with graceful ease, Uttered bons mots which pique and please, So natural that to those who hear, Said by themselves they must appear. So pleased was Robert, that a smile Escaped him, and he thought a while His wife less ugly than before, But she would fain, the supper o'er, Have her spouse go with her to bed; He raves, he wishes to be dead: He yields, though not with a good grace, Since without remedy his case. Foul clothes our knight but little matters, Quite gnawed by rats and torn to tatters, On pieces of old wood extended, And frequently with packthread mended; All this the knight could have digested, But Hymen's rites he quite detested. Of these, indeed, he much complained; "Good heaven," cried he, "is't so ordained! At Rome, 'tis said, grace from on high Can both the power and will supply; But grace does for the present fail, And I for my part am but frail;