Classic Poem

Husband.

S H ould modest Ladies steal abroad,
Mobb'd up like Common Punks or Bawd,
Without their Stays, in wanton Dresses,
Just sit for amorous Caresses.
What base Intrigue are you upon?
And whither, Madam, is't you run?
Squirting about in Hackney-Coach ,
Like Jilt in quest of new Debauch.
Without your Footman, or your Maid,
As if you fear'd to be betray'd;
Sneak home by Night at twelve a Clock,
Discharge your Coach before you knock:
Then gently tapping are, with Caution,
Let in by her that waits your Motion.
And when you've slily crept up Stairs,
Pretend to go an Hour to Pray'rs;
As if Devotion was design'd
For nothing but a Holy Blind:
So pious Jilts, that kiss and pray,
Repent, and sin again next Day.

Lady.

Bless me! my Dear! you're wond'rous free;
What means this Fit of Jealousy?
Am I a Vassal or a Wife?
Your Lady, or a Slave for Life?
Must I, to please your Whim, be ty'd
In my own Coach always to ride?
Sute all my Actions to the Eyes
Of Servants, and be watch'd by Spies?
Suppose I had a mind to call
At Pinners , or at Salters-Hall ;
Only for once or so, to hear
The Low-Church way of preaching there:
Or that, upon some publick Day,
I long'd to hear old Daniel Burghess pray;
Not thro Devotion, I protest,
But purely for a Pulpit-Jest.
Since we are Church-Folks , it is fitting
The World should know I go to th' Meeting.
When if my Equipage should wait
At Door, the Town would know it strait:
And where's the harm, if, in these Cases,
I go disguis'd to such-like Places?

Husband.

Good Heavens! what would Woman do,
To cloke the Vices they pursue?
And paint their Ills with pious Cheating,
If 'twas not for the Church or Meeting?
Religion, once the Prop of State,
What is't thou'rt become of late?
The very Scandal of the Gown,
The common Banter of the Town;
As manag'd now, the Nation's Curse,
Th' aspiring Villian's Stalking-Horse;
The Trader's holy Face and Mien,
To hide the Knave that lurks within;
The Cause of ev'ry spightful Jar,
The Bane of Peace, and Drum of War;
The Wife's Excuse, whene'er she flies
To satiate on forbidden Joys:
In short, 'tis now a Cloke put on
For every Evil that is done;
Therefore, pray Madam, cease your prating,
Of going mobb'd to Church or Meeting:
When yon steal out in such loose Dresses,
I know you find more private Places;
Not to serve God, but to promote
The Pleasure of the Petticoat;
And to be safe, whilst you comply
With Ills you cannot justify.

Lady.

My Dear, to hear you talk so odly,
'Twould vex me, were I ne'er so Godly;
But as you fancy, pray suppose,
(For Jealousy's the De'il, God knows)
That when I'm mobb'd in such a pickle,
I am too wanton or too sickle,
To trouble Church or Conventicle .
But have, perhaps, a mind to see
Some foolish Curiosity,
Th' Arabian Goat, or some such Creature,
Whose Horns are Miracles in Nature:
Or if by chance I take a loose
To do what's more ridiculous;
And, blushing, laugh an Hour away,
To see the Moorfields Strolers play;
Who by their aukward Struts transverse
A Tragedy into a Farce;
Or, vice versa , make you weep,
At Comedy, till fast asleep:
Thus when they mean that we should cry ,
We laugh , to see their Lovers die,
They do't so very aukwardly.
And when they come to make us glad,
Their Tragick Tone still keeps us sad;
Therefore, my Dear, if I take pleasure
In such Fanatick Whims as these are;
Where is the Scandal, or the Crime,
Of a Hack-Coacb at such a time;
And, without Equipage, to go.
In Dishabelle to see a Show;
Since Lords and Ladies often strole
From Court as far as Hockley-Hole ,
To see the Dogs, the Bulls, aud Bears
Halloo'd together by the Ears?
For tho' some think such rugged Sport
Too rugged for the nobler Sort,
I vow 'tis but a Jest; for we
That call our selves the Quality,
Have all our Whims; act, jest, and talk,
And play the Fool like other Folk;
Only our Grandeur cheats their Eyes,
And makes them think we are more wise.

Husband.

But I hear, Madam, you are fam'd
For a worse Sport than you have nam'd;
And that your Hackneys and Disguises
Are all but infamous Devices
To drive on your Intrigues the better,
And make my sprouting Shame the greater,
What must I bring you first to Court,
And then be thus rewarded for't?
Was it for this your Pride aspir'd
To dwell among the fawning Herd?
That you might prostitute your Charms
To this and that gay Blockhead's Arms?
And with a Bastard mottled Race
My antient Family debase
By your curs'd Tail and tempting Looks,
Make it as spurious as a Duke's?
But I'll revenge the Wrongs you've done me,
Or a worse Plague shall light upon me.

Lady.

Prithee, my Dear, don't let your Passion
Thus rise without just Provocation;
My Lady Backwell can inform you,
I ne'er do any thing to harm you;
For whensoe'er I steal abroad,
Mobb'd up in Furbelow or Hood;
I never fail to call upon her;
And none can touch her spotless Honour:
Therefore you need not doubt your Wife,
She'll witness my obedient Life,
And all the Liberties I take,
Where-e'er I go behind your Back.
But Men, I find, will still distrust
Their Wives, altho' they're ne'er so just;
And from the Guilt of their own Vices,
Punish themselves with strange Surmises.

Husband.

It is not all your sham Pretences
Can longer smother your Offences;
You need not go Incog . to see
The Arabian Goat, but look at me:
Your wanton Tail has made my Crest
Vie Antlers with that monstrous Beast:
Long have I guess'd, by your loose Carriage,
You've broke the solemn Vows of Marriage.
But now I know my Fate as certain,
As if my Eyes had seen my Fortune;
And that my Forehead could proclaim
Your Faults to my eternal Shame.

Lady.

Be patient till your Horns appear;
Don't be so positive, my Dear;
Because he only is, you know,
The Cuckold who believes he's so.
What foolish Story has possest
Your Noddle, and inflam'd your Breast?
What servile Sycophant or Spy
Has brib'd your Friendship with a Lye?
And, for the sake of some By-End,
Has shly prov'd a treach'rous Friend?
Prithee believe no idle Tales
Of what I did at Tunbridge-Wells .
Or what fine Spark among the Beaux
At Bath for a Gallant I chose.
The World's ill-natur'd and censorious,
And modest Wives , whose Charms are glorious,
Are often falsly made notorious.
He that would lead a happy Life,
Must always listen to his Wife;
And for the Truth depend upon her,
In all things that respect her Honour:
For he that ever lends an Ear
To common Fame, that common Lyar;
May be a Cuckold in his Thought,
Altho his Lady ne'er was naught.
Thus 'tis not what we really are ,
That frets the jealous Breast with Care;
But what we think our selves to be,
That oft creates our Misery.
Then what dull Sot would horn his Brows,
By harb'ring Evil of his Spouse;
Since if he thinks her chaste and good,
No Cukold's he, tho' she be lewd?

Husband.

The Jilt does many ways devise
To blind her injur'd Husband's Eyes;
Will still persuade the Fool she's chaste,
Tho ne'er so loose about the Waste;
Especially if not detected
I'th' Fault of which she is suspected.
But l've discover'd your Abuse
Of Marriage, far beyond Excuse;
Have prov'd at last too Cunning for ye,
And found just Reasons to abhor ye.

Lady.

Prithee, my Dear, don't shew your Heat,
So like a Cuckold in Conceit;
And vent your Spleen, as if your Eyes
Had witness'd my Infirmities.
Perhaps your jealous Ears have heard,
I'm much admir'd by such a Lord;
And that we met some Afternoon
At Chelsea , or at Kensington :
What then, can't Lords and Ladies take
A Frisk for Conversation's sake?
Be merry o'er a Flask or two,
Drink a cool Sillibub or so;
But like salucious Punks and Play'rs,
They must defile the Tavern Chairs?
O foh! I hate a jealous Sot,
That harbours such a Beastly Thought.
I'm sure they must have led ill Lives,
That judge so hardly of their Wives;
For those, who are themselves unjust,
Are always fullest of Distrust.

Husband.

Most rarely urg'd, imperious Creature!
Cunning by Practice, leud by Nature
A most incomparable Plea
For faithless Woman's Liberty;
If a Man once be well assur'd
His Lady rambles with my Lord,
And meets his Honour up and down
In Holes and Corners out of Town:
I think he has Cause enough to guess
His Wife has soul'd her Wat'ring-Place;
And ought, I say, to take't for granted,
His Horns are very firmly planted.
What Business can a Wife pretend
To have with any strong-back'd Friend;
But to oblige her lustful Passion
With base adult'rous Recreation?
Therefore its Proof enough, Pox take her!
To know she meets her Cuckoldmaker;
For would she have her Husband see,
As the Law calls it, Rem in Re ?

Lady.

O fie upon you! by my Life
Your Talk's enough to spoil a Wife:
There's stuff indeed, I thought that no Man.
Would use such words before a Woman.

Husband.

You're mighty modest by your prating,
But Pox take him that taught you Latin :
I find you have been made by some Man
Too good a Scholar for a Woman.

Lady.

I'm not so ignorant, you may see,
As you believe your Wife to be;
Perhaps your Jealousy in time,
May improve my Knowledge to a Crime;
And make you apt to think me naught,
Because I understand what's what.
I've read, my Dear, I must allow,
The Tryal of a Rape e'er now;
Yet ne'er was ravish'd in my Life,
Before, or since, I've been your Wife:
Therefore, I hope, you don't distrust
I'm disobedient or unjust;
Because, my Dear, I dont' applaud ye,
For speaking fulsome Latin Bawdy.

Husband.

You banter, Madam, mighty well;
I know you've Tongue, as well as Tail:
Both which have not only been try'd
By me, but many more beside.
Who was it call'd the other Day
At Man 's, upon Sir Frederick Gay ;
Took him into her Hackney Coach,
And carry'd off the young Debauch;
At Whitehall-stairs took Boat just after,
And to Spring-Gardens cross'd the Water;
There spent six hours, to both your shame,
In doing what's too bad to name.

Lady.

I'll take my Oath 'twas none of I,
If't it had, I'd scorn to tell a Lye.
Sir Frederick! By my Life and Soul,
I know the Gentleman, that's all.
But pray, my Dear, suppose I had
Done what you say, you've done as bad.
Who was it took a homely, cloudy,
Lascivious, poor, theatrick Dowdy;
Cloth'd her as richly, and as fine,
As if her Charms had outshone mine:
Down from the Garret brought the Jilt
To Holland Sheets, and Sattin Quilt;
Kept her as if she'ad been a Dutchess,
To please and humour your Debauches?
How then can you expect I'll be
True to a Man that false to me;
Since I have Youth and Beauty too,
At least, I'm sure, enough for you?

Husband.

Both Sexes love the pleasing Sport,
It is a reigning Vice at Court;
I've had my am'rous Freaks, 'tis true,
And so, I'm satisfy'd have you;
Therefore what's Honour but a Cheat
Among the Noble and the Great?
Since we of Wealth and high Degree,
Who boast of Birth and Quality,
Are far more base behind the Curtain,
Than those content with meaner Fortune.