The Cuckold's Lamentation of a Bad WIFE.
He is tormented, and she Tanns his Hide,
He knows not how to live, nor where to abide;
Besides she makes him for to wear the Horn,
And he wishes that he never had been born:
To all young Batchelours now he does declare,
When they goe a Wooing for to have a Care,
There's is many Maids good, but some proves evil,
His Luck was bad, he met with a She-Devil.
To the Tune of
The Country Farmer. Or,
Why are my Eyes still flow—ing.
O good Wife
out Rogue spend thy Mony
YOung Batchelours all, come hear this new Song,
And take warning by me, lest you do your selves wrong
For I like a Fool must needs go to be Wed,
To bring a Slut, and a Whore, and a Scold to my Bed;
Biside she will fight with me every day,
She is such a devilish Quean, I do say:
A Man needs no more Sorrow to shorten his Life,
When he has such hard Fortune to have a bad Wife.
All day I lye working and taking of pains,
And she lyes at the Ale-house and spends all the Gains;
And when I come home and give her a word,
She'll snap me up short and no comfort afford,
And then she'll say, Sirrah where is all your Money?
You have bin with your Whores, and you have left ne'er a penny;
And then she lets fly that I am weary of my Life,
Then God help that poor Man that has got such a Wife:
I complain of my Wedding, and of my bad Life,
What fortune I had in choosing a Wife;
If I had sought Hell there had not been such another
For fighting, and scolding, and swearing together,
That I am frighted sometimes clear out of my Wit,
For fear that my Bones they should be sore beat:
A Man needs no more sorrow to shorten his Life,
Then God help that poor Man that has got such a Wife.
On Saturday-night I staid late for my Wage,
And when I came home my Wife was in a great Rage,
She wellcom'd me home, but ne'er call'd me Honey,
But bumbasted me soundly, and call'd for my Money;
She gave me a slap on the Chops, and put me in a fright,
That I promise you truly that my Nose is sore yet:
A man needs no more sorrow to shorten his Life.
When he has such hard Fortune to have a bad Wife.
She makes me a Cuckold when I am at work,
Her Cullies about her so closely do lurk,
I may curse the time that e'er I was born,
That I must be forced now to wear the Horn;
No, the Horn is not all, but she bangs my Bones sore,
And when I am in Bed with her, she throws me on the floor
A Man needs no, &c.
I cannot sleep quietly, I now will be sworn,
I am so tormented with the pain of the Horn,
Therefore honest Batchelors have a great care
That you never, like me, draw your selves in a Snare;
For my Wife is so maukin when she sets on
That I am not able to tame her, let me do what I can:
A Man needs no, &c.
She minds nought but Idleness, this is the Truth,
And to find fault with her I am very loath,
One day I but speak, and she did begin,
She took up the Tongs and broke both my shins,
You Cuckoldy Rogue do you know what you say?
I will soften your Hide if you prate in that way:
Did you e'er hear the like, she will shorten my Life,
God help that poor Man that has got such a Wife.
When any of her Customers comes to our House,
I must stand at the back, I dare not say Dun is the Mouse,
She will be so angry at me, I swear,
That I am ready to bepiss my Breeches for fear;
And if I do not carry my Cu
[...] then upright
Lamb-pye I must have to my Supper that night:
I am so tormented I am weary of my Life,
God help that poor Man that has got such a Wife.
And now to conclude, you have heard my Distress,
My Fortune was bad, all this I confess,
And Batchelors all take warning by me,
Some Women are dangerous Cattel you see;
For I am Hen-peckt to the sight of my Friends;
And have nothing but Blows to make me amends;
I am so tormented I am, weary of my Life,
God help that poor Man that has got such a Wife.
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-corner.