The Batchelor's Triumph: Or,
The Single-Man's Happiness.
A Hen-peck'd Husband's like a Slave, who wears
His Masters Fetters, whom each whisper scares;
[H]is thoughts are all to please his Wife, nor knows
He other Hell, then what her frowns disclose:
What Mad-men then will be such fools, when they
Without controul, may Love and Freedom sway.
To the Tune of, For what is Man, etc.
With Allowance.
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FOr what is Man confin'd
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Unto a Woman kind?
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But a Slave, Cuckold, and Drudge;
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that must work and toyl,
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whilst her Amors beguile,
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And deprive him of what he gains:
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but we will live a Single life,
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and free from care and strife,
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We tip their Fortunes for their pains.
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Royot we all the day,
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they bound and must obey,
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Wives they will curb 'um and make 'um grow Sots;
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But we are free from this,
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Are not oblieg'd to Kiss,
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Keep Ladies company just when we please:
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Pass the whole Year away,
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Merrily as the Day,
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Revel like Princes with pleasure and ease.
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Treated whole weeks are we,
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they love Variety,
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There's not a woman but will have her friend;
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Poor silly Idle Knaves,
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their wives we make our slaves,
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Court 'um to taverns, to Ball and to Plays;
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Whilst the poor Fool at home,
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Patient sits like a Moam,
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What they want nightly we give 'um a day.
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TAke Coach and to Hide-Park,
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There Revel till 'tis dark,
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Then with all speed the next tavern we find;
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Whither we straight repair,
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treated with sumptuous fare,
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And whatsoe'r we want have at command:
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Oysters and wine are free,
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Or whatsoe'r we see,
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Sill when we call for it's ready at hand.
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Poor Husbands they know not,
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their Money pays the Shot,
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While that in Horns we return it agen;
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Ignorant of the case,
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Whilst we their Fore-heads grace,
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And do adorn their Brows with a high Crest;
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They'l not at Beer repine,
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Whilst their wives feast with wine,
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But think that all they do is for the best.
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Whilst their Dames Rant and sing,
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And close about us cling,
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Panting long time we lye in loves imbrace
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For which their Gold they spend,
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And what we askt 'um lend,
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Free without Bond or scruple resign,
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And empty all their store,
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Let Husbands work for more,
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Friends shall be surely supply'd with their coin.
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Whilst they keep on their pace,
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And the Moams saddles grace,
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Of what they possess there's nought that's deny'd,
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then who would be Marry'd,
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Continually wearied,
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When loves sweet accents so plentiful flow;
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that Pastimes and Pleasures,
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we take at our leasures,
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And can abridge them when weary we grow.
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We live free from those cares,
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that a Husband still fears,
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Frownings and poutings from wives when displeas'd,
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till the fools Monies give,
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that they quiet may live,
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Which on their Gallants so kindly bestows:
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For the which we embrace,
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And set Horns on their face,
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Whilst the lov'd silver procures us fine cloaths.
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The poor Mopus confides,
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And for Christening provides,
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And by the Cradle a Rocking he sits;
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Then let Sots be confin'd
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Unto false women kind,
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But we r resolv'd to Court single delight.
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And to pitty his case,
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who with Hornny-fy'd face,
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Slaves for his wife both by day and by night.
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