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.
Tune of, Hey Boys up go we; Busie Fame; Marreulus; 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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Beautys 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 shel be profuse?
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she crys, whats 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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Shel 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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Shel haul me up and down the house,
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the like you ner 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 oftentimes doth tell me plain,
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that I do wear the Horns;
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Sure ery Man doth this disdain,
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and wisemen 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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Oh 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 ner 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 ner 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 Cuckold be.
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