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 o[f]
her Husbands 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 Back'd 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 Tradesman took the Air,
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There came a Colt and Back'd 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 Bac'd his Mare.
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The good man soon found somthing 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 Forehead 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'd 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, d'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 Bus'ness 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 and Back'd 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'd 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 a[n]d jeers:
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But for hereafter i'le take c[a]re,
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That no young Colt shall Back my Mare.
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