And says, she hates a Harlot as the Devil.
So have I heard a Pulpit Hector rant
At Drunkenness, as zealous as a Saint,
Curse it to Hell, with trembling and with fear,
Tho' 'twas a Vice he seldom cou'd forbear.
So she derides the thing she fancies best,
And Damns the Sin she harbours in her Breast.

_The Third Comfort._

Next comes a little Bantling to Town,
Which the unthinking Cuckold calls his own.
'Tis like him too, as ever it can stare,
The midnight Gossips then do all declare.
_His very Picture_; every one do cry,
_His Mouth, his Lips, his Chin, his Nose and Eye._
They tell him this, and he believes it too,
Tho' it was gotten by the Lord knows who.
Yet this Advantage from it he doth draw,
He reigns chief Master, while she's in the Straw.
But when she rises, all his Power must cease,
And with it too, his Comfort and his Peace.
Her Tongue's compounded of all sorts of ill,
Given to lie, but seldom lying still.
_You Rogue_ (quoth she) _where has your Rakeship been?
These Thirty days your Honest Wife lay in?
Here, Rock the Child, while I go take the Air,
I won't be stifled up no longer here._

_The Fourth Comfort._

Away she flings, and leaves him with her Brat,
And goes from House to House to Drink and Chat,
Finds out a Cully to her Lustful Mind,
And makes a Bargain with him to be kind.
From time to time she has such freaks as these,
And turns an errand Strumpet by degrees.
Yet blinds her Husband with this wild Excuse,
_She goes to see an Aunt behind the_ Meuse.
And if he blames her, thus for staying late,
He is in danger of a broken Pate.
So that he's forc'd to stay at home to Rock,
While his Leud Wife is wasting of his Stock.
This course of Life for many years she leads.
And wallows in her lustful wicked deeds
Thus are her teeming years in Folly spent,
In Clamour, Self-conceit, and Discontent.
Impetuous in her ways; abruptly bold,
The worst of Whores, yet must not be controul'd.

_The Fifth Comfort._

The Husband all this while concludes her Chaste,
And little thinks