But Wedlock’s like the blustring Month of March,
That does the Body’s Maims and Bruises search,
Brings by cold nipping Storms unwelcom Pains,
And finds, or breeds, Distempers in our Veins;
Renews old Sores, and hastens on Decay,
And seldom does afford one pleasant Day. 
But Clouds dissolve, or raging Tempest blow,
And untile Houses, like the wrangling Shrow;
Thus March and Marriage justly may be said, }
To be alike, then sure the Man is Mad, }
That loves such changling Weather where the best is bad. }

Though I once happy in a single Life,
Yet Shipwrack’d all upon that Rock a Wife. 
By Gold and Beauties Powerful Charms betray’d,
To the dull drugery of a Marriage-Bed;
That Paradise for Fools, a Sport for Boys,
Tiresom its Chains, and brutal are its Joys,
Thou nauseous Priestcraft that to soon appear’d,
Not as I hop’d, but worse than what I fear’d. 
All her soft Charms which I believ’d divine,
Marriage I thought had made them only mine;
Vain hope, alas for I too early found,
My Brows were with the Throne of Wedlock crown’d,
Jealousies, first from Reason rais’d a doubt,
And Fatal Chance th’ unhappy Truth brought out;
Made it so plain from all Pretences free’d. 
That wicked Woman no Excuse could plead;
And if she wants device to hide her Shame,
Hell can no Umbrage for Audult’ry frame.

I though it prudence the Disgrace to hide,
Tho’ rav’d and Storm’d, she Pardon beg’d and Cry’d. 
Yet with false Protestations strove to Charm: 
The Cuckold to believe she’d done no harm,
Tho’ taken by surprize (O curse the Day)
Where all the Marks of past Enjoyment lay,
And she disorder’d by her lustful freeks
Had Shame and Horrour strugling in her Cheeks: 
Yet, made Essays to clear her Innocence,
And hide her guilt with Lyes and Impudence;
For lustful Women like a vicious State,
Oft stifle Ills by others full as great,
But I convinc’d too plainly of her Guilt,
All her false Oaths and quick inventions spoilt,
Which when she’d used in vain she blush’d and cry’d,
And own’d her fault she found she could not hide.

This I forgave, she promis’d to reclaim,
Vow’d future truth if I’d conceal the shame;
But what Strange Adamantine Chain can bind,
Woman corrupted to be just or kind: 
Or how can Man to an adultress shew
That Love, which to a faithful Wife is due. 
I strugled hard, and all my Passions chekt,
And chang’d Revenge into a mild Respect,
That Good for Ill return’d might touch hear near,
And Gratitude might bind her more tan fear;
My former Love I every day renew’d;
And all the Signals of Oblivion shew’d;
Wink’d at small Faults, wou’d no such Trifles mind,
As accidental Failings not designed. 
I all things to her Temper easie made,
Scorn’d to reflect, and hated to upbraid;
She chose (and rich it was) her own Attire,
Nay, had what a proud Woman could desire.