That all honest Women belonging to either Wittals or Cuckolds, be admitted to the principal Places in this Ship.
VI.
And lastly, for the better State and Magnificence of the honourable Corporation of W——es, ’tis order’d that a Chariot be made to be drawn by Cuckolds, the Cuckold-makers to drive, and the Wittals to ride.
The well approved Doctor:
Or, an Infallible Cure for Cuckolds. To
the foregoing Tune.
THERE is a fine Doctor now come to Town,
Whose practice in Physick hath gain’d him Renown,
In curing of Cuckolds he hath the best Skill,
By giving one Dose of his approved Pill.
His Skill is well known, and his Practice is great,
Then come to the Doctor before ’tis too late;
His Med’cines are safe, and the Doctor is sure,
He takes none in Hand but he perfects, the Cure.
The Doctor himself he doth freely unfold,
That he can Cure Cuckolds tho’ never so old;
He helps this Distemper in all sorts of Men,
At Forty and Fifty, yea, Threescore and Ten.
There was an old Man lived near to the Strand,
Decripid and Feeble, scarce able to stand;
Who had been a Cuckold full Forty long Years,
But hearing of this how he prick’d up his Ears.
Away to the Doctor he went with all speed,
Where he struck a bargain, they soon were agreed;
He cured his Forehead that nothing was seen,
And now he’s as brisk as a Youth of Fifteen.
Now this being known, how his Fame it did ring,
And unto the Doctor much trading did bring;
They came to the Doctor out of e’ery Shire,
From all Parts and Places, yea both far and near.
Both Dutchmen and Scotchmen to London did ride,
With Shonny-ap-Morgan, and Thousands beside;
Thus all sorts and sizes, both rich Men and poor,
They came in whole Cart-loads to this Doctor’s door.
Some whining, some weeping, some careful and sad,
And some was contented, and others born mad;
Some crooked, some straight Horns, and some overgrown,
The like in all Ages I think was ne’er known.
Some rich and brave flourishing Cuckolds were there,
That came in whole Droves, Sir, as if to Horn-Fair;
For now there is hopes to be cur’d of their Grief,
The Doctor declares in the Fall of the Leaf.
Let none be so foolish as now to neglect,
This Doctor’s great Kindness and civil Respect;
Tho’ rich Men may pay, yet the Poor may go free,
So kind and so courteous a Doctor is he.
’Tis known he so worthy a Conscience doth make,
Poor Cuckolds he’ll cure them for Charity sake;
Nay, farther than this still his Love does enlarge,
Providing for them at his own Cost and Charge.
But some are so wicked, that they will exclaim
Against their poor Wives, making ’em bare the Blame;
And will not look out in the least for a Cure,
But all their sad Pains and their Tortures endure.
But ’tis without reason, for he that is born
Under such a Planet, is Heir to the Horn:
Then come to the Doctor both rich Men and Poor,
He’ll carefully cure you, what would you have more?
The Term of his Time here the Doctor does write,
From six in the Morning ’till seven at Night;
Where in his own Chamber he still will remain,
At the Sign of the Woodcock in Vinegar-lane.
