Thus with my first three lords I pass'd my life, A very woman, and a very wife. What sums from these old spouses I could raise, Procured young husbands in my riper days. Though past my bloom, not yet decay'd was I, Wanton and wild, and chatter'd like a pie. 210 In country-dances still I bore the bell, And sung as sweet as evening Philomel. To clear my quail-pipe, and refresh my soul, Full oft I drain'd the spicy nut-brown bowl; Rich luscious wines, that youthful blood improve, And warm the swelling veins to feats of love: For 'tis as sure as cold engenders hail, A liquorish mouth must have a lecherous tail: Wine lets no lover unrewarded go, As all true gamesters by experience know. 220 But oh, good gods! whene'er a thought I cast On all the joys of youth and beauty past, To find in pleasures I have had my part, Still warms me to the bottom of my heart. This wicked world was once my dear delight; Now, all my conquests, all my charms, good night! The flour consumed, the best that now I can Is e'en to make my market of the bran. My fourth dear spouse was not exceeding true; He kept, 'twas thought, a private miss or two: 230 But all that score I paid--As how? you'll say, Not with my body, in a filthy way; But I so dress'd, and danced, and drank, and dined, And view'd a friend with eyes so very kind, As stung his heart, and made his marrow fry, With burning rage and frantic jealousy His soul, I hope, enjoys eternal glory, For here on earth I was his purgatory. Oft, when his shoe the most severely wrung, He put on careless airs, and sat and sung. 240 How sore I gall'd him only heaven could know, And he that felt, and I that caused the woe: He died, when last from pilgrimage I came, With other gossips from Jerusalem, And now lies buried underneath a rood, Fair to be seen, and rear'd of honest wood: A tomb, indeed, with fewer sculptures graced Than that Mausolus' pious widow placed, Or where enshrined the great Darius lay; But cost on graves is merely thrown away. 250 The pit fill'd up, with turf we cover'd o'er; So bless the good man's soul! I say no more. Now for my fifth loved lord, the last and best; (Kind heaven afford him everlasting rest!) Full hearty was his love, and I can show The tokens on my ribs in black and blue; Yet with a knack my heart he could have won, While yet the smart was shooting in the bone. How quaint an appetite in woman reigns! Free gifts we scorn, and love what costs us pains: 260 Let men avoid us, and on them we leap; A glutted market makes provisions cheap.