OF A

Wanton WIFE, &c.

The First Comfort.

Unhappy Man! yoak'd with a wanton Wife,
The Wedding Day begins thy wretched Life.
Not all the Hurry of a Married State,
Can stint her Humour, make her more Sedate.
She'as all the Tricks the Devil can infuse
Into her Head; her Husband to abuse.
Her first attempt, when once the knot is ty'd.
Is how to Govern what she cannot Guide;
She flatters first, and if that chance to fail,
To gain her Ends a worser Method shall.
Force must (where Words have no effect) ensue,
It is her Humour, and it shall be so.
Thus does the fright the poor mistaken Sot,
To change his Breeches for a Petticoat:
If Kick'd or Buffeted, he dare not move,
But thinks 'tis only tokens of her Love.
What she affirms (tho' diff'rent from the Sight,
It must be so, she's always in the right.

The Second Comfort.

When thus she'as made her silly Husband bend,
She'll never let him have the upper hand.
She manages Affairs, while he (poor Soul)
Consents, because he's fearful to controul;
Not that she will to Diligence adhere,
She'll take the Pleasure, he may take the Care.
Containing an unequal Dividend,
His Business is to get, and hers to spend.
If he's unable to supply her Lust,
She'll take such care of that, another must.
Her Prentice, Bully, Stallion, Foes or Friends,
No matter who, if she but gain her Ends:
While he's the very Subject of her Scorns,
And sounds himself a Cuckold with his Horns:
Yet she's so cunning, that she rails at Evil,
And says, she hates a Harlot as the Devil.
So have I heard a Pulpit Hector rant
At Drunkenness, as zealous as a Saint,
Curse it to Hell, with trembling and with fear,
Tho' 'twas a Vice he seldom cou'd forbear.
So she derides the thing she fancies best,
And Damns the Sin she harbours in her Breast.

The Third Comfort.

Next comes a little Bantling to Town,
Which the unthinking Cuckold calls his own.
'Tis like him too, as ever it can stare,
The midnight Gossips then do all declare.
His very Picture; every one do cry,
His Mouth, his Lips, his Chin, his Nose and Eye.
They tell him this, and he believes it too,
Tho' it was gotten by the Lord knows who.
Yet this Advantage from it he doth draw,
He reigns chief Master, while she's in the Straw.
But when she rises, all his Power must cease,
And with it too, his Comfort and his Peace.
Her Tongue's compounded of all sorts of ill,
Given to lie, but seldom lying still.
You Rogue (quoth she) where has your Rakeship been?
These Thirty days your Honest Wife lay in?
Here, Rock the Child, while I go take the Air,
I won't be stifled up no longer here.

The Fourth Comfort.

Away she flings, and leaves him with her Brat,
And goes from House to House to Drink and Chat,
Finds out a Cully to her Lustful Mind,
And makes a Bargain with him to be kind.
From time to time she has such freaks as these,
And turns an errand Strumpet by degrees.
Yet blinds her Husband with this wild Excuse,
She goes to see an Aunt behind the Meuse.
And if he blames her, thus for staying late,
He is in danger of a broken Pate.
So that he's forc'd to stay at home to Rock,
While his Leud Wife is wasting of his Stock.
This course of Life for many years she leads.
And wallows in her lustful wicked deeds
Thus are her teeming years in Folly spent,
In Clamour, Self-conceit, and Discontent.
Impetuous in her ways; abruptly bold,
The worst of Whores, yet must not be controul'd.

The Fifth Comfort.

The Husband all this while concludes her Chaste,
And little thinks she spends his Wealth so fast,
'Till Pocky Pains begins to smart below,
Then mildly asks her if she made him so?
At which she swears, and bold'y starts this Whim,
That she had catch'd the Foul Disease of him:
Which strange Retort, makes him suspect the Crime,
She had concealed from him so long a time.

The Sixth Comfort.

He tells her of her Faults, and mildly says,
Dear Wife 'tis got by going thus to Plays.
To which she answers, like a Cunning Jilt,
It is the very cause of this my Guilt,
But take my Word, I ne'er did so before.
Nor never while I live, do so no more.
With feigned Tears, and with a Judas Kiss;
She said (My Dear) I own I have done amiss.
But if you'll Pardon me this very time,
I'll for the future loath so vile a Crime.

The Seventh Comfort.

The Man o're-joy'd to hear such Words as these,
From her, he hardly ever yet could please.
In loving Terms, embrac'd her in his Arms,
And said, his chief delight was in her Charms.
Besides he added, if she would be Chaste,
He'd freely Pardon'd her for what was past.
All seeming Friendship now's afresh renew'd.
On promise she wou'd ne'er again be Leud.
With Tears and Kisses, (Woman like) she Fawns.
And asks his Pardon on her Marrow-bones.

The Eighth Comfort.

The Cunning Jilt, she being thus forgiven,
Next studdies how to make her Ballance even.
That is to please her Husband and her Friend,
And all this while a Vertuous Wife pretend.
At last she makes a League with John her Man,
And thus afresh her Wickedness began,
By subtle Arts, more cautious than before,
She pleas'd her Husband, yet was still a Whore.

The Ninth Comfort.

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.

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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.

The Fourteenth Comfort.

The Matter having wisely took the hint,
Begins to fear there may be something in't.
But still unwilling, to expose her shame,
He is resolved to tell her of the same.
Next Night he took occasion thus to say,
My Dear, pray tell me, where you've been to Day.
I hope (says she) you'll not be Jealous now,
D'ye think I'll damn my self to break my Vow?
I'd have you know I scorn the thing you fear,
Of such foul Deeds my Conscience now is clear.
But this I tell you for your further ease,
Where I have been, I'll go when e'er I please.
Do you think I'll be kept in like a Drone,
While others reap the Pleasures of the Town.
No Faith, I'll never yield to such hard Fate.
To be confin'd; is what I always hate.
The Honest Husband hearing what she said.
He stood amaz'd, but yet no Answer made.
He plainly saw his Ruin coming on,
His own Disgrace, and all his Money gone.
He now believes what he wou'd not before,
His Pious Wife is still a Brimstone Whore,
Who made him Cuckold, and confounded Poor.



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The Fifteenth Comfort.

Thus wanton Wives are Plagues beyond compare,
The Devil's Nets, poor Mankind to ensnare.
His Traps to catch a Heedless Sinner in,
His Instruments to tempt a Saint to Sin.
His curst Decoys to bring Destruction on,
And make a Man despair when all is gone.
His Factors here on Earth, to Trade in Vice,
His Catch-poles to betray us in a trice.
His Vermine to consume our very Food;
His Leeches to suck out our Precious Blood.
His Wolves in Sheeps Apparrel to us sent,
To Rob and Spoil us of our true content.
His Toads to Poison Soul and Bodies too.
And send to Hell more than's the Devil's due.

FINIS.