THE
Cuckholds Petition
TO THE
Parliament of Women,
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Setting forth their many Grievances; and Humbly presented to those Sage Matrons, who
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appointed as a Committee to inspect the affairs of the Hornlanders.
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The APOLOGY:
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'Tis for Redress, Sage Matrons that we come,
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And in the Name of all in Cuckholdome,
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Implore a Regulation in affairs,
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That purs and Reputation both Impairs.
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In all our Brethrens Names we few are sent,
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This poor Petition Humbly to present.
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Leaving you to consider our hard fate,
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Hard as Acteons, who Transform'd of late
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Was to a Stagg; for daring but to view
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Naked Diana sporting with her crew.
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Entred according to Order.
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To the Tune of Hey-Boys up go We: Or Genny Gynn.
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THe low Petition of poor we,
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Whose Heads each bear a crest,
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Does let you Madams plainly see
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How we have been opprest,
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Though our fore-doors we fain wou'd guard,
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Yet 'tis our Wives good pleasure,
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That they should always stand unbar'd,
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Although we loose our Treasure.
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Nay now and then they will intice
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Bold Robbers for to venture,
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And in the main to be concise,
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Will freely let them Enter,
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Whilst we are forc't for to retire,
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Or seem asleep to sit,
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For fear they should upon us fire,
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Or stick us with their spit.
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Then strait to Ransacking they fall,
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Where we our treasure hoarded,
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And then you know 'tis Have-at-all,
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When once the Frigat's boarded,
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Then up and down they Rummage still,
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Incourag'd by our wives,
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And freely Act whate're they will,
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Whilst none to hinder strives.
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Or if we dare, there's two to one
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Our wives will take their part,
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And it was better let alone,
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Although we feel the smart,
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No kindness we can shew, our Dames
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Seems pleasing, but they will
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Reject our chast and Amorous flames,
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And take our fondness Ill.
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But if a Gallant chance to come,
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Their frowns are all laid by,
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And strait into an Upper-Room,
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With him they trip with joy,
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But what they do, we dare not see,
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As we regard our quiet,
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But must content and patient be
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To pay for costly Diet.
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To Pamper him and fill his veins
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With blood, that does create
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Desire, that our wives still drain,
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Whilst we do blame our fate,
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But if a Tempest we'd avoid,
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That would the House untile,
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On those that have been so imploy'd,
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We must not dare but smile.
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Then to a Tavern, Ball, or Play,
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They in a Coach do pack,
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Whilst we stand crying all the day,
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Pray Sirs, what is't you lack,
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When the Evening's come the Revels o're,
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Our wives return again,
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For us they have no joy in store,
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Yet dare we not complain.
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But all Night long they sleep or scold,
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At what we cannot tell,
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Or dream their Gallants they infold,
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And at it are Pell-mel,
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Yet dare not we disturb their rest,
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But be content to see
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What in the day has been exprest,
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There imitated be.
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For if we speak, they low'r and pout,
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Or Weep, or Rant, and then
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Our Purses they must surely out,
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To quiet them agen,
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A Sattain Gown or Richest Lace,
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Gold Watch, or Ribbons brave,
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Must make attonement in the case,
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If we would quiet have.
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Therefore from you we seek redress,
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Who know their ways full well,
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Your Council 'tis, that in distress,
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We begg you'd give or sell,
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And though our Fortunes must increase,
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Fate having order'd it,
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Yet pass an Act for future Peace,
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Wee'l pray you long may sit.
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LONDON, Printed for A. Chamberlain in St. Johns-Street.
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