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A wretched Dotard, who, 'till past Threescore,
Had liv'd, and shou'd have dy'd, a Batchelor;
For the Support of his Decrepit Life,
Took that deceitful, bending Crutch, a Wife:
But soon the Dolt his sad Mistake perceiv'd;
His Need was not so great as he believ'd:
For, howsoever useful she might seem,
The Lady had not a Meet-help in him.
Asham'd and griev'd at what his Age had done,
Since he too late had Marry'd, and too soon;
He said, I have but ill address'd my Life
To answer my Occasions for a Wife:
When fit to Marry, I declin'd the State;
But enter on it now, when out of Date.