And offering to give her what I shou'd,
Quoth she, you Fumbler you can do no good,
Give me the Man that never claps his Wings,
But always Life and Courage with him brings,
'Tis such an one wou'd please; but as for you
If Night and Morning some small matter do;
You think you've done your due Benevolence,
When I with thrice your Labour can dispence.
This Reprimand my Courage soon did cool,
And fearing Combing with a Three-Legg'd-Stool;
I very fairly went to sleep again,
And left her of my Manhood to complain.

_The Second Comfort of Cuckoldom._

No sooner had I chang'd my single Life,
And had confin'd my Carcass to a Wife;
But she was always Gadding up and down,
To take the various Pleasures of the Town;
Howe're I only reckon'd this to be,
The airy Frisks of her Minority,
Till shortly finding and old Hag wou'd pay
Her Visits oft, and take her Day by Day
[*?]oad, indeed this gave me some Mistrust,
That this old weather beaten Devil must
Be some Procurer, and resolv'd to watch
Their Waters, where shoul'd I the Bitches catch,
But in a Bowdy-house in _Milford-lane_?
So going in a Passion home again,
At twelve at Night my Doxie likewise came,
Whom I in mod'rate Terms began to blame;
Telling her that old Witch with whom she went,
Abroad a Days by Rogues was only sent
About to Wheedle young and tender Maids
To Ruine, till they turned common Jades.
_You Lie_, reply'd my hopeful graceless Dear,
_I'll have you know, I'll never sin in fear,
Besides for she of whom you think, Amiss,
That sweet obliging Gentlewoman is
A tender-hearted Bawd that ne'er made Whore,
But ever us'd such as were broke before._
Now finding her so bad at Seventeen,
Thinks I by that time she has Thirty seen,
She'll be a Whore in Grain; but by good hap,
She dy'd within a year of Pox and Clap.

_The third Comfort of Cuckoldom._

It was my Fortune to be joyn'd to one,
As pretty as was shined on by the Sun;
For on my word her Eyes were full and gray,
With ruddy Lips, round Cheeks, her Forehead lay
Archt like a snowie Bank, which did uphold