But it seems they have hitherto sav'd all their Lives, Since they cou'd not live honest, there's four made Wives, The other two they are not Marry'd but Sw----s, _Which no Body_, &c. The Eldest the Matron of t'other Five Imps, Though as Chast as _Diana_, or any o'th' Nymphs, Yet rather than Daughter shall want it, she Pimps, _Which no Body_, &c. Damn'd Proud and Ambitious both Old and the Young, And not fit for honest Men to come among, A damn'd Itch in their Tail, and a sting in their Tongue, _Sing tantara rara Whores all, Whores all,_ _Sing tantara rara Whores all._ _A_ SONG. [Music] Marriage it seems is for Better for Worse, Some count it a Blessing and others a Curse; The Cuckolds are Blest if the Proverb prove true, And then there's no doubt but in Heav'n there's enough: Of honest rich Rogues who ne'er had got there, If their Wives had not sent them thro' trembling and fear. Some Women are Honest, tho' rare in a Wife, Yet with Scolding and Brawling they'll shorten your Life, You ne'er can enjoy your Bottle and Friend; But your Wife like an Imp, is at your Elbow's end: Crying fie, fie you Sot, come, come, come, come, So these are Unhappy abroad and at home. We find the Batchelor liveth best, Tho' Drunk or Sober he takes his rest; He never is troubl'd with Scolding or Strife, 'Tis the best can be said of a very good Wife: But merrily Day and Night does spend, Enjoying his Mistress, Bottle, and Friend. A Woman out-wits us, do what we can, She'll make a Fool of ev'ry Wise Man; Old Mother _Eve_ did the _Serpent_ obey, And has taught all her Sex that damnable way: Of Cheating and Couzening all Mankind, 'Twere better if _Adam_ had still been Blind. The poor Man that Marries he thinks he does well, I pity's Condition, for sure he's in Hell; The Fool is a Sotting and spends all he gets, The Child is a Bawling, the Wife daily Frets: That Marriage is pleasant we all must agree, Consider it well, there's none happier can be. _A_ SONG. [Music] The _Caffalier_ was gone, and the _Roundhead_ he was come, Was the greatest Blessing under the Sun; Before the Devil in Hell sally'd out, and ript the Placket of Letter, Ay, and take her Money too, _Cot bless hur Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._ Now hur can go to _Shrewsperry_ her Flannel for to sell, Hur can carry a creat sharge of Money about hur, Thirty or Forty Groats lap'd in a _Welsh_ Carter, Ay, and think hur self rich too, _Cot bless_, &c. Now hur can coe to Shurch, or hur can stay at home, Hur can say hur _Lord's Prayer_, or hur can let it alone: Hur can make a Prayer of hur own Head, lye with hur Holy Sister, Ay, and say a long Crace too, _Cot bless_, &c. But yet for all the great Cood that you for hur have done, Would you wou'd made Peace with our King, and let hur come home, Put off the Military Charge, Impost, and Excise, Ay, and free Quarter too. _Then Cot shall bless you Master_ Roundhead, _and send hur well to do._