go:
Believes her Company is much desired,
And’s proud to think she shou’d be so admired:
Until at length, by chance he finds the Truth,
And catches her with some enamour’d Youth:
Surpriz’d—but dare not make the Matter known,
Conceals her Shame, that he may hide his own;
He ever after spends an anxious Life,
Heavy his Sorrow, and as Light his Wife.
Believes her Company is much desired,
And’s proud to think she shou’d be so admired:
Until at length, by chance he finds the Truth,
And catches her with some enamour’d Youth:
Surpriz’d—but dare not make the Matter known,
Conceals her Shame, that he may hide his own;
He ever after spends an anxious Life,
Heavy his Sorrow, and as Light his Wife.
The Third Comfort of Matrimony.
Scarce has another three full Moons beguil’d,
But that his forward Spouse has prov’d with Child,
And now begins the drugery of Life,
Lo! the vast Comforts of a Breeding Wife,
Now she’s grown Squeamish, such ado is kept,
She e’en as peevish as an Ape new whipt,
She pukes and whines, do’s nothing but complain,
And vows she’ll never know the like again;
But ’tis as Children promise to be good,
Only remember’d while they feel the Rod.
And now the look’d for time approaches nigh,
And you’ve a thousand several Things to buy,
The Twi-lights, Blankets, and the Lord knows what,
To keep the Child, perhaps he never got,
A noise of Bawdy Gossips in his Ears,
Until his House like Billings gate appears,
Thus amply curst, he grows discreetly dull,
And from a Man of Sence, becomes a Fool.
The Fourth Comfort, &c.
One that so fast in Hymens Net appears,
He has been strugling in’t near twenty Years:
With Care and Toil to propagate his Store,
Able to keep the Wolf just from the Door;
As num’rous Offspring round his Table spread;
Daughters for Marriage fit, and Sons for Trades,
Is Blest with Comforts of the Marriage Bed.
Charges encreasing daily, and the thought
Where to get Money to dispose ’em out?
Or then perhaps he feels the greater Curse,
The Sons turn Sots, or Fools, the Daughters worse;
The Wife still teezing him to do his part,
Until he has enough to break his Heart.
The Fifth Comfort, &c.
But the least pitied is your Aged Ass,
Who tho full Sixty, wou’d for Forty pass:
And that he may be sure a Crop to have,
And carry Horns fresh budding to his Grave,
On one of Twenty, blooming as a Rose,
His dry and wither’d Carkass he bestows:
She jilts, intrigues, and plays upon him still,
Keeps her Gallants, and Rambles at her Will;
Do’s nothing but her Pride and Pleasure mind,
And throws his Gold like Chaff before the Wind;
Until at length she beggars the old Slave,
And brings his Gray-Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave.
The Sixth Comfort, &c.