Your husband will be with us at the treat; May that be the last supper he shall eat! And am poor I a guest invited there, Only to see, while he may touch the fair? To see you kiss and hug your nauseous lord, While his lewd hand descends below the board? Now wonder not that Hippodamia's charms, At such a sight, the Centaurs urged to arms; That in a rage they threw their cups aside, Assailed the bridegroom, and would force the bride. I am not half a horse, (I would I were!) Yet hardly can from you my hands forbear. Take then my counsel; which, observed, may be Of some importance both to you and me. Be sure to come before your man be there; There's nothing can be done; but come, howe'er. Sit next him, (that belongs to decency,) But tread upon my foot in passing by; Read in my looks what silently they speak, And slily, with your eyes, your answer make. My lifted eye-brow shall declare my pain; My right-hand to his fellow shall complain, And on the back a letter shall design, Besides a note that shall be writ in wine. Whene'er you think upon our last embrace, With your fore-finger gently touch your face; If any word of mine offend my dear, Pull, with your hand, the velvet of your ear; If you are pleased with what I do or say, Handle your rings, or with your fingers play; As suppliants use at altars, hold the board, Whene'er you wish the devil may take your lord. When he fills for you, never touch the cup, But bid the officious cuckold drink it up. The waiter on those services employ; Drink you, and I will snatch it from the boy, Watching the part where your sweet mouth hath been, And thence with eager lips will suck it in. If he, with clownish manners, thinks it fit To taste, and offer you the nasty bit, Reject his greasy kindness, and restore The unsavoury morsel he had chewed before. Nor let his arms embrace your neck, nor rest Your tender cheek upon his hairy breast; Let not his hand within your bosom stray, And rudely with your pretty bubbies play; But, above all, let him no kiss receive! That's an offence I never can forgive. Do not, O do not that sweet mouth resign, Lest I rise up in arms, and cry, 'tis mine. I shall thrust in betwixt, and, void of fear, The manifest adulterer will appear. These things are plain to sight; but more I doubt What you conceal beneath your petticoat. Take not his leg between your tender thighs, Nor, with your hand, provoke my foe to rise. How many love-inventions I deplore, Which I myself have practised all before! How oft have I been forced the robe to lift In company; to make a homely shift For a bare bout, ill huddled o'er in haste, While o'er my side the fair her mantle cast! You to your husband shall not be so kind;