University of Virginia Library

Bvt though these angrie ones soon bread a braul,
And are pernicious to converse withall;
Not one jot better is the jealous head,
That ever seares his wife hath wrong'd his bed.

Sometime this Passion (as it may appeare)
Proceeds out of a too much love, with feare,
Sometime again the mischiefe doth arise,
When he that worth in his beloved spies,
Is forced that deserving to confesse,
And privy to a selfe-unworthinesse.
Which is indeed the cause that brings the smart
Of Iealousie upon the greatest part.

The first is seldomest, and it is sent
Of God, as a peculiar punishment
To those who do the creature so affect,
As thereby their Creatour they neglect.
Love is the highest and the noblest blisse.
That for mankinde on earth ordained is:
But when true measure it exceeds, and gets
Beyond the decent bounds that reason sets,
God turnes it to a plague, whereby he will
Shew them their folly, and correct the ill.
He adds, a feare of losing of their joy
In that they love: which quickly doth destroy
All their delight; and strewing good with ill,
Makes things seem lost though they are with thē still

Thus doth it oftentimes with that man prove
Who keeps not moderation in his love.
He having got a wife not onely faire,
But modest, honest, wise and debonaire,
At first so wondrous meritorious deems her,
As worthy all affection he esteems her,
And waxeth so assur'd hee dares be bold
She will not be allur'd to ill by gold,
Honour, nor beauty: but as she is chast,
So is perswaded will be to the last.
And to himselfe so well doth seem to thrive,
He thinks his own the happiest choise alive.
All which is good, and if no more I tell,
You cannot say wherein he doth not well:
But there he doth not his affection stay,
Further it tends, and further it will stray
This man not having learned to possesse
With temperance so great a happinesse;
Oft his affections grow to that extreame,
As well he knows not if he wake or dreame,
Then doth his Love, (such love will ever do it)
For a Companion take in Feare unto it.
A feare of losing what he loves so much:
And then the nature of this feare is such,
That it begets suspect; which creeping in,
Doth by a little at the first begin
To make him doubt his Spouse may loosely live.
But then her well-known vertuous minde doth give
Such blamelesse testimony of her good,
As that surmise is for a time withstood,
Till this disease upon him growes more strong,
Then he begins to think she doth him wrong:
Which if he doe, that one false thought's enough
To give all former truthes the overthrow.
And why? Suspect grows thereupon so great,
She thrusts true judgment quite besides her seat.
Which being done, then straight begins to wane
The good conceit he of his blisse had tane:
His onely labour's how to bring't about,
To be assur'd of what he seeketh out.
A Cuckold he esteemes himselfe, and he
Were e'en as good indeed a Cuckold be:
Nay, rather than he'll be deceiv'd, the elfe
Will try to make a Cuckold of himselfe.
In borrowed shapes to bed her he will trie;
Sometimes he courts her by a deputy:
And if all fail to tempt her unto ill;
Yet, he remains himselfe a Coxcombe still.
For if his friend do to his house repaire,
He thinks tis onely 'cause his wise is fair:
Or if a stranger come he'le pawn his life
All his intent is to corrupt his wife:
Yea, though the businesse to himselfe he finde,
He thinks 'tis but a Hood to keep him blinde.

Thus all the sweet he had is turn'd to sowre,
Fain would he think well, but hath not the power;
Much care torments his heart, and yet he will
Be prying farther to increase it still:
Yea, he will seek, although he truly know,
The more he seeks, the more he findes his woe.

Besides, Suspect reviveth in the head
All things that may be mis-interpreted;
And the best thought her vertue's like to win
Is onely this; It serv'd to cloak her sinne.
In briefe, his former love he marreth quite,
And there he loathes, where once he took delight
But wherefore? onely 'cause he doth mistrust,
And not on any proofe that shee's unjust.

Vnhappy man, thus thy ill nature shall
Convert the hony of thy life to gall.
And haplesse woman she that comes to wed
So meere a sot, and such a jealous head;
An Owl-ey'd buzzard that by day is blinde,
And sees not things apparant, yet can finde
That out which never was. The feare to lose
The jewell he above all gemmes did choose;
That feare, I say, of wit doth so bereave him,
He thinks that's gone which means not yet to leave him.
Oh, foolish man, that having gain'd a blisse,
Dost make't a curse, by using it amisse;
If judgment be not blinded in thee, look;
Try if thou hast not all this while mistook:
Is not thy wife still faire? and to the eye
Seems she not yet to have that modesty
Thou didst commend her for? Is she not wary
With whom she walks, or speaks, or where to tarry:
Is she not still as carefull how to please;
As loving too as in her former daies?
In shew he sees it, but he thinks 'tis fein'd.
Out blockish dolt that art most justly pain'd:
Thou but a few supposed shadows hast
That makes thee to account thy wife unchast;
But many firme substantiall proofes make cleare
That shee's unstain'd, and ought to be as deare
As e're she was: Why then should faults in thee
Make her seeme evill untill such she be?

A woman that is faire shall much be view'd,
And have perhaps unlook't-for favours shew'd.
She shall be courted wher'er she will or no;
Nay, be resorted to: and though she show
Scarcely so much as common courtesies,
Shee shall be censur'd by mis-judging eyes,
And false reports will flie: But what of this?
Wilt thou that hast had triall what she is,
And never knewst her erre, wilt thou, I say,
Cast all the good conceit thou hadst away,
And straight grow jealous, trusting the surmise
Of the lew'd Vulgar more than thine own eies?
It were mad folly; and yet I do know
Some that are thus besotted: more's their wo.
And pitty 'twere but they had horned him,
Wer't not a greater pitty so to sinne.

Should you but sit with such an one at table,
To hold from laughter you were scarcely able,
To see what note the jealous Woodcock takes
Of his wives words, and every look she makes;
In what a feare he eats his meat, and drinks,
What signes he uses, how he nods and winks,
With twenty scurvy gestures, though he see
No reason he should so suspicious be.
Now some have cause enough, and I beleeve
Such seem to have a colour why they grieve.
But yet ther's no just reason any one
Should over-strive to hold what will be gone,
Vexing himselfe so for anothers ill,
Which he can never help. Let him that will.
This I know true, to seek much to restrain
A womans will, is labour spent in vain;
And he that tries to do it might have bin
One of the Crew that bedg'd the Cuckow in.
Why should a man go put himselfe to pain,
As some have done, a businesse to fain?
And then at night come lurk about his house,
Where be it but the stirring of a Mouse
He doth observe it: Wherefore doth he so?
Since, if thereby he ought amisse do know,
The greatest good that he shall hereby finde,
Is more vexation to molest his minde:
For then the mischiefe he but fear'd before,
Hee's certain of, and need not doubt it more.
A goodly meed: but sure those wretched elves,
Take pleasure in tormenting of themselves.
They hearken, watch, set spies, and alway long
To heare some tales or inkling of their wrong.
And he that can but whisper some such fable,
Shall be the welcom'st guest that sits at table.
(Though it be ne'er so false) they love so well
To feel the torture of this earthly hell.
But I do muse what Devill keeps their heart,
They should affect the causes of their smart;
Those ever-buzzing-deadly-stinging flies;
Those that of Ecchoes onely can devise
A slander 'gainst thy selfe. What e're they say,
Thy love from her thou must not draw away
On bare reports. Thou must behold the crime,
Or keep her as thy best belov'd her time.
Better or worse, thou surely must abide her,
Till from thy selfe the death of One divide her.
Then tell me, were it not (by much) lesse pain
A good opinion of her to retain?
Could'st thou not be contented by thy will,
At least to think that she were honest still?
Yes, in thy heart I know thou would'st be glad,
Vnlesse that thou wert void of sense, or mad.
Why, shake off all these claw-backs then that use
Thy soon-beleeving nature to abuse;
For (trust me) they are but some spightfull elves,
Who 'cause they have not the like blisse themselves,
Would fain mar thine; or else I dare be bold,
If thou the truth couldst warily unfold,
They are some lust-stung Villaines that did court
Thy honest wife to some unlawfull sport:
And finding her too chast to serve their turne,
Whose evill hearts with foule desires did burne;
To spight her (being farre more evill doers
Than Daniels Elders, faire Susanna's wooers)
To thee they do accuse her of an ill,
Whereto they labour'd to allure her will.

Let me advise thee then, what e're he be
That of such dealings first informeth thee.
Believe him not what proofes soe're he bring,
Do not give eare to him for any thing:
And though he be the nearest friend thou hast,
From such like knowledge shut all sense up fast;
Flie and avoid him as thou wouldst the Devill,
Or one that brings thee messages of evill.
Let him be to thee as thy deadliest foe,
A Fury, or some one thou loath'st to know.
And be assured, whatsoe'er he shewes,
He is no friend of thine that brings that newes;
Sith if that thou wert his most deadly foe;
For any wrong it were revenge enough.

Now some men I have noted love as well
The husbands faults unto the wife to tell,
And aggravate them too: as if thereby
They either meant to feed their jealousie,
Or else stir up their unbeseeming hates,
Against their guiltlesse welbeloved mates.
But of these monsters (fairest Sex) beware,
Of their insinuations have a care:
Beleeve them not, they will coyne tales untrue,
To sow foule strife betwixt your loves and you
Out of ill-will: or else here is my doome,
They hope to get into your husbands roome,
Through the advantage of the discontent
They would work in you. But this their intent
They'l so disguise, that you shall never spie it,
Till you are snar'd too surely to deny it.

But oh! consider you, whose excellence
Had reasonable once for difference,
This Passion well: if ill your Spouses do,
Amend your selves, and they'l grow better too.
Look not upon them with o'er-blinded eyes,
Nor grieve you them with causelesse jealousies:
For most of them have ever this condition,
Though they are bad they cannot brook suspition.
Strive not with them too much. For as the Powder
Being fast stopt, makes the report the louder,
Sending the bullet with the greater force:
So he that seeks to barre a womans course,
Makes her more eager, and can ne'er out-strive her,
But on she will because the Devill doth drive her.

Let those then that thus matched are, begin
By love and gentle means their wives to win.
And though no hope they see, yet patience take,
So there is none shall know their heads do ake.
And let all wary be that no surmises,
Or flying tale some envious head devises,
Make them to wrong their chast and modest wives,
Who have with vertue led unspotted lives:
For though they stand unmov'd, yet that's the way
To make a woman soonest go astray.
And so I will conclude these jealous humours,
Which part I found b'experience, part by rumours;
I feel it not, yet know it is a smart
That plagues the minde, and doth torment the heart.
And I could wish but for the others sake,
Their thoughts-tormenting-pain might never slake:
For, none's so jealous, I durst pawn my life,
As he that hath defil'd anothers wife.