Thus seeming Prudence, when ’tis ill apply’d,
        It makes the Breach more dangerous and wide. 
        For tho’ it may at first appear more bright,
        And something dazling to a weaker light. 
        Yet being view’d with more discerning thought,
        What seem’d real good, is found to be stark nought. 
        For this base Woman grows from bad to worse,
        And proves her Husband’s Plague, as well as Curse;
        Consumes his Stock, on some sad Lustful Knave,
        And makes her Spouse a Cuckold and a Slave.

The Tenth Comfort.

        The Sport’s still carry’d on, but under-hand,
        She seems the Chastest Wife in all the Land,
        Oh! how she blames her self for former Deeds,
        And says her Heart within with Sorrow bleeds. 
        Which he believes, because she sheds some Tears,
        And frees his Mind from Sorrow grief and Cares. 
        She Apes the Saint, by framing Modest Look,
        Tho’ perfect Devil in a Private Nook. 
        Deceives her Husband with her cunning Wiles,
        And Cheats his Scenses with her feigned Smiles.

The Eleventh Comfort.

        Extreamly fond the Cuckold hugs his Choice,
        Well pleas’d to think the Whore has left her Vice,
        Gives her fine Cloaths, and Money what she craves,
        Which she as freely spends on Rogues and Knaves. 
        Her private Stallion now will not suffice,
        Her Lust encreases as her Favours rise,
        New Faces Charm the roving Brimstone Jilt,
        And with each Beau she acts new fancy’d Guilt. 
        When time and place her wickedness denies,
        She feeds her thoughts with her lascivious eyes.

The Twelfth Comfort.

        Yet all this while the Husband thinks his Wife
        Is Penitent, and leads a Virtuous Life. 
        Because she fawns and flatters Night and Day,
        He can’t believe she’ll ever go astray. 
        No Cost he spares to satisfie her Pride, }
        But makes her equal with the loftiest Bride, }
        While Watch of Gold hangs dangling by her side. }
        He strains his Pocket to maintain her high,
        And freely let’s his Gold and Silver fly. 
        Nay, sells his Lands, her Honour to defend,
        And thus is ruin’d by his Bosom Friend.

The Thirteenth Comfort.

She thus goes on and spends his Wealth so fast,
That he begins to think of what is past. 
Takes notice of her Visits out of Town,
And wonders where she’s Coach’d so up and down,
Enquires of John (who now seems Jealous too)
And asks him what he thinks his Wife will do. 
The Servant’s vext, but dares not yet disclose,
Not half the Truth of what he really knows. 
Yet being willing something to impart,
Declares he’s very sorry at his Heart. 
To think how much she daily spends in Waste,
And adds, he doubts, she is not over Chaste. 
But shak’d his Head, as if ’twas spoke in jest. 
And left his Master to find out the rest.