On Planned Marriages

Fathers who vow their love for daughters dear
Yet’d make them ‘bediant to their own base will,
Be-marry them for gilt from a grizzled loon
For that he’d serve them easy wealth to fill
Up all their pockets, spoon on golden spoon,
With bank-notes in the palm, on fingers rings,
An host of pretty, soul-less, petty things,
That are not love, nor never yet will be,
That are but curses clothing misery,
The misery of her acknowledged not
The sole own mistress of her life; nay, not
A human self, having no just right
To choose, to will, to act, for her own best,
Nor urge one dream to skylight chance of flight.
This last, these little liking fathers would divest.

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