The LONDON
CUCKOLD:
OR,
An Antient Citizens-Head well fitted with a Flourishing pair of Fashionable Horns, by
his Buxome young Wife, who was well back'd by a Coltish-Spark, in the time of her Hus-
bands Absence at the Campaign on Hounslow-Heath.
Tune of, O Mother Roger, etc.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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A Trades-man hearing of the Story,
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of the Army and Campaign,
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Long'd for to behold the Glory,
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and he went to view the same;
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On his Brown-Bay Tit he got,
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and away does bravely trot,
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Left behind his witty Wife,
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Whom he lov'd as dear as life,
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But while my Tradesman took the Air,
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there came a Colt and Backt his Mare.
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It was a Gallant with white Feather,
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and a Coat with Golden Lace:
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Hearing of her Fame came thither,
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and supply'd her Husbands place.
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Little thought the careless Man,
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of the Game that then began,
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Thinking not to be beguil'd,
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By his Wife so sweet and mild,
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But while the Trades-man took the Air,
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there came a Colt that back't his Mare.
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When he came home She gave him Kisses,
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and Sack-Posset very good:
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Caudles too, she never misses,
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for they warm, and heat the Blood.
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Such things will Create desire,
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and new kindle Cupid's Fire,
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These things made him kiss his Wife,
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And to call her Love and Life,
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But while (alas) he took the Air,
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a wanton Colt had back't his Mare.
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The good man soon found something budding,
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which did put him to great pain:
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And as he was eating Pudding,
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to his Wife he did complain.
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Wife, said he, I am not well,
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(what I ail'd I cannot tell)
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But my Fore-head feels like Bone,
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'Tis as hard as any stone.
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By Jove, quoth she, and this fair morn,
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Husband, Husband, 'tis a Horn.
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A Horn, quoth he, pray hold your prating,
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(for I Vow you make me quake,)
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If it be, 'tis of your making,
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O dear! how my Head does ake,
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I am in a woful case,
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something, something sprouts apace.
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Love (said She) then know your doom,
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One lay with me in your Room,
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For while you rid to take the Air,
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there came a Colt that back't your Mare.
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The Duce (quoth he) take ye for Witches,
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can't a man ride out a Mile;
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But some fellow with fine Breeches,
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must new Saddle you the while.
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Husband, Husband, for your joy,
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you shall have a thumping Boy,
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Come, come peace, and have more wit,
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Oh! I feel a qualmish Fit,
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I find, I find, I am with Child,
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pray my Dear, be kind and mild.
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With Child, do ye say, (ye arrant Hussie[,]
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I ne'r got it; is it true?
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'Tis (quoth she) you were so busie,
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I was loath to trouble you.
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You love Business as your Life,
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but ne'r mind to kiss your Wife,
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You leave me to lye alone,
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All night long to sigh and moan,
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And therefore when you took the Air,
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there came a Colt that back't your Mare.
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It was a Youth in Gaudy Jacket,
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that appear'd most brisk and fine,
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Kist me, prest me, teaz'd my Placket,
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made me blush like Claret-wine:
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But at last I did obey,
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what young Woman could say nay?
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To this Gallant I did yield,
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And the Warrior won the Field,
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For while you (Husband) took the Air,
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this same Youngster back't your Mare.
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Oh! let true Patience be my Balsom,
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since I know my wretched Fate,
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Prating like a Fool is fulsome,
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silence Cures the Horned pate.
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Should I blow my Trumpet out,
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I should raise the Rabble-rout,
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Have the Boys about my Ears,
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And endure their Flouts and Jears.
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But for hereafter i'le take care,
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that no Colt shall back my Mare.
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