Believe it or not, as you choose,
The doctrine is certainly true,
That the future is known to the muse,
And poets are oracles too.
I did but express a desire
To see Catharina at home,
At the side of my friend George’s fire,
And lo—she is actually come!
Such prophecy some may despise,
But the wish of a poet and friend
Perhaps is approved in the skies,
And therefore attains to its end.
‘Twas a wish that flew ardently forth
From a bosom effectually warm’d
With the talents, the graces, and worth
Of the person for whom it was form’d.
Maria would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all,
But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the Queen of the Hall.
And therefore I wish’d as I did,
And therefore this union of hands:
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry—Amen—to the bans.
Since, therefore, I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain
When making good wishes for her,
I will e’en to my wishes again—
With one I have made her a wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my life—
How soon I can make her a mother.