Advice to Batchelors,
OR,
The Married Mans Lamentation.
Take heed you that Unmarried are,
How you do make your Choice;
But if a good Wife you do find,
Twill make your heart Rejoyce.
To the Tune of, Hey boys up go we; busie fame; Martellus; Or, Jenny Gin.
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YOu Batchelors that single are,
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may lead a happy life,
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For married men are full of care,
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and Women oft breed strife:
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As by my late unhappy match,
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you here may plainly see,
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A loving man and froward Wife,
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will never well agree.
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Beauty's a thing that wins mens hearts,
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and reason so bewitches,
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That men oft let the weaker sort,
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like fools to wear the Breeches.
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And I my self too late lament
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my apish foolery;
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For if I speak an hasty word,
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then hey boys slap goes she.
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I in the morning up must get,
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or else there is no quiet,
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And get her some delicious bit,
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for she doth love good dyet:
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I ask her why she'l be profuse?
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she crys what's that to me,
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And if another word I use,
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then Hey Boys slap goes she.
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SHe'l make me rise out of my Bed,
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to let another in;
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And if I ask the reason why,
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a quarrel doth begin;
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She'l haul me up and down the house,
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the like you ne're did see,
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I must be silent as a Mouse,
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or Hey Boys slap goes she.
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If I but for my breakfast ask,
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then doth she laugh and jeer,
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Perhaps give me a hard dry crust.
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and strong four Shilling Beer:
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She tells me that is good enough,
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for such a Rogue as me,
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And if I do but seem to pout,
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then Hey Boys slap goes she.
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She often times doth tell me plain,
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that I do wear the horns,
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Sure every man doth this disdain,
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and wise men meerly scorns:
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But since 'tis my unhappy fate,
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how can it helped be?
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But if I chance thereof to prate,
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then hey Boys slap goes she.
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The Pots and Dishes I must wash,
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and scowre the Irons too,
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Nay, and must wash the childrens clouts
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believe me this is true:
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But those that did the Children get,
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should slave as well as me,
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And if I chance to vex or fret,
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then hey Boys slap goes she,
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This is a strange and dismal life,
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that I poor man do lead;
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And when I do consider well:
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it makes my heart to bleed:
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But if it goes against the grain,
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I must contented be,
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If in the least I do complain
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then hey Boys slap goes she.
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O that I were a single man,
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as I was heretofore,
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Or if I were a Widdower.
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I ne're would Marry more:
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For I do to my sorrow know.
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and to my grief I see,
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When she says I and I say no,
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then hey Boys slap goes she.
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A thousand times I wish in vain,
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I ne'r had been begot,
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Then had I been a happy man,
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now Cuckold, Fool, and Sot:
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But once again you Batchelors,
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take warning now by me,
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For 'tis a curse to be a Slave,
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and yet a C[u]ckold be.
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FINIS.
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