PONTIUS
AND
PONTIA.
I
Pontius, (who loves you know a joke,
Much better than he loves his life)
Chanc'd t'other morning to provoke
The patience of a well-bred wife.
II
Talking of you, said he, my dear,
Two of the greatest wits in town,
One ask'd, If that high fuzz of hair
Was, bona fide, all your Own.
III
Her own, most certain, t'other said,
For Nan, who knows the thing, will tell ye,
The hair was bought, the money paid,
And the receipt was sign'd Ducailly.
IV
Pontia, (that civil prudent She,
Who values wit much less than sense,
And never darts a repartee,
But purely in Her own defense)
V
Reply'd, These friends of your's, my dear,
Are given extremely much to satire,
But pr'ythee husband, let one hear,
Sometimes less wit, and more good-nature.
VI
Now I have one unlucky thought,
That wou'd have spoil'd your friend's conceit;
Some hair I have, I'm sure, unbought,
Pray bring your brother-wits to see't.
