The Seven Merry WIVES
OF
LONDON:
OR
The GOSSIPS Complaint
AGAINST
Their HUSBANDS,
For their Neglect,
As they met together in a Tavern, over half a dozen Bottles of Canary.
To the Tune of, Fond Boy, etc.
Licensed according to Order.
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THere's seven young Wives met together of late,
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In a Tavern, not far from the Bell-savage-gate,
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Where they call'd for the best of Canary with speed,
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And in pleasant Discourse they began to proceed:
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Quoth the Water'man's Wife, I must drink and then run,
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For a Woman's work, Sisters, you know is ne'er done.
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I wash to the Temple and next Inns of Court,
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And the lively young Lawyers, they yield pretty sport,
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When I go to their Chambers each morning or night,
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Then my Heart is transported with joy and delight:
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When the pleasure is over, dear Sisters, I run,
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For at home, I must tell you, my work is ne'er done.
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The Shooe-maker's Wife fill'd a bowl to the brim,
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Crying out, Here's a Bumper, sweet Sisters, to him
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That is able to please a young Wife to the heart,
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But alas, to my sorrow, the truth I'll impart;
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I'm afraid I shall ne'er have a Daughter or Son;
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Tho' I labour a Woman's work never is done.
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My Husband is lusty, young, proper, and tall,
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Yet I think that he has but a short Peging-aul,
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Which does nothing to purpose, dear Friends, as I live
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All the shooes in my shop I would willingly give
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To enjoy a young beautiful Daughter or Son
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But my work I must tell is never well done.
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The Pewterer's Wife then spoke up with a grace,
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Loving Sister, believe me, I pitty thy case,
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There is no greater grief in the World I declare
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Then to have a dull Soul, for I solemnly swear
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Seven Years I've been foolishly baffl'd with one;
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For my work, loving Sisters, is never well done.
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A Man of much mettle I took him to be,
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Or else, faith, he had never been marry'd to me,
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But alas, to my sorrow, I find I am fool'd,
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For he'll seldom cast into the mould that he should;
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Which has caus'd my eyes like fair fountains to run,
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For to th[i]nk that my work it was never well done.
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A Chyrurgeon's Wife then immediately swore,
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That she now had been marry'd a Twelvemonth and more
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Yet he never had enter'd nor found the right Vein,
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Therefore surely, said she, I have cause to complain:
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If he don't mend his manners, astray I shall run;
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For 'tis fit that a Woman's work should be well done.
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The Wife of a Fidler, cry'd, Hear me I pray,
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My unnatural Husband he seldom will play
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His kind Wife a sweet Lesson, but once in a Moon,
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He complains that his Fiddle is still out of Tune:
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If he don't mend his manners, astray I shall run,
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For you know that a Woman's work must be well done.
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The Wife of a Pavier, cry'd out it was true,
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And I have as much reason as any of you
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To complain of my Pavier, who has but one Stone,
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And besides, the worst Rammer as ever was known:
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To a Neighbour for help I am forced to run,
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Eor you know that a Woman's work must be well done.
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The Wife of a young Vulcan she took off her bowl,
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And declar'd that her Husband he was a boon Soul,
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She had no kind of cause to complain of these wrongs,
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For he follow'd his labor with hammer and tongs,
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Having five or six Daughters besides a young Son;
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Therefore truly her work had been very well done.
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