But you reel home, a drunken beaftly bear,
Then preach till midnight in your eafy chair;
Cry, wives are falfe, and every woman evil,
And give up all that's female to the devil.
If poor (you fay) fhe drains her husband's purse;
If rich, fhe keeps her prieft, or fomething worse;
If highly born, intolerably vain,
Vapours and pride by turns poffefs her brain,
Now gayly mad, now fourly fplenetic;
Freakish when well, and fretful when she's fick.
If fair, then chafte fhe cannot long abide,
By preffing youth attack'd on every side:
If foul, her wealth the lufty lover lures,
Or elfe her wit fome fool-gallant procures,
Or elfe fhe dances with becoming grace,
Or fhape excufes the defects of face.
There fwims no goose so grey, but, foon or late,
She finds fome honeft gander for her mate.
Horfes (thou fay'ft) and affes men may try,
And ring fufpected veffels ere they buy:
But wives, a random choice, untry'd they take,
They dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake:
Then, nor till then, the veil 's remov'd away,
And all the woman glares in open day.
You tell me, to preferve your wife's good grace,
Your eyes must always languish on my face,
Your tongue with conftant flatteries feed my ear,
And tag each fentence with, My life! my dear!
If, by ftrange chance, a modeft blush be rais'd,
Be fure my fine complexion must be prais'd.
My garments always must be new and gay,
And feasts still kept upon my wedding-day.
Then must my nurse be pleas'd, and favourite maid;
And endless treats, and endless vifits paid,
To a long train of kindred, friends, allies;
All this thou fay'st, and all thou say'st are lies.
On Jenkin too you cast a squinting eye :
What! can your 'prentice raise your jealousy?
Fresh are his ruddy cheeks, his forehead fair,
And like the burnish'd gold his curling hair.
But clear thy wrinkled brow, and quit thy forrow,
I'd fcorn your 'prentice, fhould
die to-morrow.
Why are thy chefts all lock'd? on what defign?
Are not thy worldly goods and treasure mine?
Sir, I'm no fool: nor fhall you, by St. John,
Have goods and body to yourself alone.
One you fhall quit, in fpite of both your eyes—
I heed not, I, the bolts, the locks, the spies.
had wit, you'd fay, "Go where you will, 130 "Dear spouse, I credit not the tales they tell :
"Take all the freedoms of a married life;
"I know thee for a virtuous, faithful wife."
Lord! when you have enough, what need you care
How merrily foever others fare?
Though all the day I give and take delight,
Doubt not, fufficient will be left at night.
'Tis but a just and rational desire,
To light a taper at a neighbour's fire.
There's danger too, you think, in rich
And none can long be modest that are gay.
The Cat, if you but finge her tabby skin,
The chimney keeps, and fits content within;
But once grown fleek, will from her corner run,
Sport with her tail, and wanton in the fun;
She licks her fair round face, and frisks abroad,
To fhew her fur, and to be catterwaw'd.
Lo thus, my friends, I wrought to my desires
Thefe three right ancient venerable fires.
I told them, thus you fay, and thus you do,
And told them false, but Jenkin swore 'twas true.
I, like a dog, could bite as well as whine,
And firft complain'd, whene'er the guilt was mine.
I tax'd them oft with wenching and amours,
When their weak legs fcarce dragg'd them out of doors;
And fwore the rambles that I took by night,
Were all to spy what damfels they bedight.
That colour brought me many hours of mirth;
For all this wit is given us from our birth.
Heaven gave to women the peculiar grace,
To fpin, to weep, and cully human race.
By this nice conduct, and this prudent course,
By murmuring, wheedling, ftratagem, and force,
I still prevail'd, and would be in the right,
Or curtain-lectures made a reftlefs night.
If once my husband's arm was o'er my fide,
What! fo familiar with your spouse? I cry'd:
I levied firft a tax upon his need:
Then let him-'twas a nicety indeed!
Let all mankind this certain maxim hold,
Marry who will, our fex is to be fold.
With empty hands no taffels you can lure,
But fulfome love for gain we can endure;
For gold we love the impotent and old,
And heave, and pant, and kifs, and cling, for gold. Yet with embraces, curfes oft I mix'd,
Then kifs'd again, and chid, and rail'd betwixt.
Well, I may make iny will in peace, and die,
For not one word in man's arrears am I.
To drop a dear dispute I was unable,
Ev'n though the Pope himself had fat at table.
But when my point was gain'd, then thus I fpoke, "Billy, my dear, how sheepishly you look!
Approach, my spouse, and let me kifs thy check; "Thou should't be always thus, refign'd and meek! "Of Job's great patience fince fo oft you preach, "Well should you practise, who so well can teach. "'Tis difficult to do, I must allow,
"But I, my deareft, will inftruct you how.
"Great is the blefling of a prudent wife,
"Who puts a period to domeftic ftrife.
"One of us two muft rule, and one obey;
"And fince in man right reafon bears the fway,
"Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way.
"The wives of all my family have rul'd
Their tender husbands, and their paffions cool'd. "Fy, 'tis unmanly thus to figh and groan; "What! would you have me to yourself alone? "Why take me, Love! take all and every part! "Here's your revenge! you love it at your heart. 200
"Would I vouchfafe to fell what nature gave,
"You little think what cuftom I could have.
"But fee! I'm all your own-nay hold-for fhame;
"What means my dear-indeed-you are to blame."
Thus with my first three Lords I past my life;
A very woman, and a very wife.
What fums from thefe old fpoufes I could raife,
Procur'd young hufbands in my riper days.
Though past my bloom, not yet decay'd was I,
Wanton and wild, and chatter'd like a pie.
In country dances ftill I bore the bell,
And fung as sweet as evening Philomel.
To clear my quailpipe, and refresh my foul,
Full oft I drain'd the fpicy nut-brown bowl;
Rich lufcious wines, that youthful blood improve, 215
And warm the fwelling veins to feats of love:
For 'tis as fure, as cold engenders hail,
A liquorish mouth must have a lecherous tail;
Wine lets no lover unrewarded go,
As all true gamefters by experience know.
But oh, good Gods! whene'er a thought I caft On all the joys of youth and beauty past,
To find in pleafures I have had my part,
Still warms me to the bottom of my heart.
This wicked world was once my dear delight;
Now all my conquefts, all my charms, good night!
The flour confum'd, the beft that now I can,
Is e'en to make my market of the bran.
My fourth dear spouse was not exceeding true;
He kept, 'twas thought, a private Mifs or two;
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