The Jolly Widdower:
OR,
A Warning for BATCHELORS.
Lest they marry with a Shrow, and so become impatient under the pain and punishment
of a Hornified Head-piece.
Now he that marrys with a shrow,
believe me this is true,
Over her Husband she will crow,
ay, and cornute him too.
To the Tune of, Caper and jerkit.
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YOung-Men and Batchelors, pray attend
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unto my doleful Tale,
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It is to you that these lines I send,
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in hopes they may prevail
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With you, to take a special care,
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when ever you mean to wed,
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For if that a Shrow, should over you crow,
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then, then all thy joys are fled.
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Alas! by woful experience now,
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I know this too be true,
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I am forced for to cringe and bow,
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and yet all will not do:
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For being married unto a Scold,
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my joys they are fully fled,
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Which makes me to cry so sorrowfully,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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When I was single i'de rant and roar,
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and court the charming bowl,
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Both Silver and Gold I had good store,
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and none could me controul:
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But now the case is altered quite,
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I now am to ruine led,
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The Horns that I wear, doth make me dispair
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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When Gallants do come for to court my wife,
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my patience then is try'd,
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I dare not spake nor look for my life,
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but glad to sneak aside,
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And forc'd to lye in some corner cold,
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that they may both go to bed,
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This I must endure, since there is no cure,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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His Boots I am forc'd to clean and grease,
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against this blade does rise,
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'Tis true, I do it, in hopes to please,
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but this would not suffice,
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For if I do not liquor them well,
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she'l fling them at my head,
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My grief is so great, no tongue can relate,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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She will be cloathed in rich array,
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her Ribbons, Muff and Fan,
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And goes a Gossiping e'ry day,
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but I alas poor Man,
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Must drudge and toil in a thred-bare coat,
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and glad of a crust of bread,
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But she has the best of delicates drest,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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She calls me up in the morning, then
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I must a fire make
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Against she rises at nine or ten,
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yet I no notice take:
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But bear it all, what ever may fall
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it is but in vain to dread
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This sorrowful lot, a wife I have got,
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but wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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She makes a fool and a perfect mome
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of me, alas, 'tis true,
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I wash the Dishes when I come home,
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and Scoure the Irons too:
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Nay, wash the clouts and clean her shooes,
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before I must go to bed,
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Now this is the life, I lead with a wife,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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Against her humours I ne'r revil'd,
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tho' she did rant and reign,
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I often rock'd another mans child,
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tho' much against the grain:
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All this I must do, and ten times more,
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or else she will break my head,
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The three-legged stool, my courage must cool,
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I wou'd I had ne'r been wed.
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At length she sickn'd, and soon she dy'd,
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this did my grief destroy,
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I never so much as sigh'd or cry'd,
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but leapt and jumpt for joy:
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I bought her a Coffin large and long,
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to put her in now she is dead,
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She is gone to the grave, and I shall be brave,
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i'le have a care how I do wed.
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