In Vicious Days and Nights his Life is spent;
The Pleasure his, but her’s the Punishment;
For now the Heav’n she Dreamt of, proves her Hell,
Whose only Fault was Loving him too well. 
Pensive all Day she sits; all Night alone;
She does her slighted Love, but more his Loss bemoan. 
By kind Endearments Fraught with Innocence,
She strives to soften his Impenitence;
Fain wou’d she turn him from the winding Maze,
Win him to Love, and be the same he was;
But Vain her Sighs; her Prayers, her Tears are Vain, }
She might as soon her Freedom re-obtain, }
As think to Mollifie th’ obdurate Man. }
Who like her Person, slights the fond Advice, }
And when with Love she wou’d his Soul Entice, }
Flies from her Arms, and Revels in his Vice; }
Till she, alas, foreseeing what must come,
Consents, and with the little left he packs her home.

Of such I give thee Caution to beware, }
Fly ’em, Melissa, like a Tim’rous Hare, }
That Strains along the Vales t’avoid the Hunters Snare. }

And from a Soldier too, thy flight direct;
In his Rough Arms, what can a Maid expect;
Long Absent days, and tedious Widow’d Nights: 
Are those the Marriage Joys, the vasts Delights
We promise to our selves, with him we Love? 
Or shall we else such Constant Creatures prove,
To leave our Country, and turn Fugitive: 
Follow the Camp, and with the Wanderer Live. 
’Mongst War-like sounds our softer hours to pass,
Scorch in the Sun, and Sleep upon the Grass: 
No, no, Melissa, ’tis an Auxious Life;
Honour’s his Mistress; let it be his Wife.

No Man of Bus’ness let thy Heart approve;
Bus’ness is oft an Enemy to Love: 
Nor think, my Dear, thou canst be truly blest
With one that’s Wedded to his Interest. 
Worldly Affairs does his Affections cloy,
As that which shou’d preserve it, does destroy.
’Twixt two Extreams you wretchedly must Live,
Or bad, or worse, as his Affairs do Thrive;
Whose good or ill Success, must be the Rule,
One makes him Insolent, and t’other Dull.

Let no Aspiring Courtier be thy Choice;
Avoid in Courts, the Bustle and the Noise;
Where Vain Ambition hurries on the Mind,
And always leaves more solid Joys behind: 
As when the Thrifty Clown, securely Blest,
His Barns with Plenty, with Content his Brest,
Possest with hopes of a long lost Estate,
In haste forsakes his humble harmless Seat. 
With Bagg and Bundle, Trots it up to Town, }
There wildly Gapes, and wanders up and down, }
And’s kept in Ignorance till he’s undone. }
Some weighty Sums receiv’d for Corn and Cheese,
Are Spent in Treats, and Giv’n away in Fees. 
Mean while the Lawyer so well Acts his Part, }
With empty Pockets, and an Aking Heart, }
He sends him home again to Plow and Cart. }