University of Virginia Library

[Now welcome, dear Xantippe, prithee tell]

Ph.
Now welcome, dear Xantippe, prithee tell,
How hast thou done of late, and are you well?

Xan.
I thank you, pretty Phebe—Lord, my Dear,
How charmingly you look! Come, now I'll swear,
If you hold on in this surprising Way,
You'll kill at least your twenty Men a Day.

Ph.
O now you jest, and talk such whiffling Stuff
If I can please but one, I'm well enough.

Xa.
Who gave you, Phebe, these fine Clothes you wear?

Ph.
And who but he who should, who but my Dear.

Xan.
O happy you! wou'd it had been my Lot
To wed with any, but that naughty Sot
My Husband, he a Husband fitter far
To have been match'd with some she-crony Bear:
No Wife of Sense but must this Beast abhor,
And pelt with Tongue and Hand the savage Cur.
Dost see (Pox rot him) how he lets me go,
How nasty, tawdry, beggarly and low?
While others walk abroad in handsome Dress,
I've scarce a Rag to hang about my A---se;
Yet this fine Man profusely wastes our Stores
With his mad drunken Clubs, his Dice and Whores.
A Nights comes reeling home at Three a Clock,
And with his nauseous Vomit spoils my Smock.
'Twou'd make one mad to suffer as I do,
'Fore God I'll swinge him, if he treats me so.

Ph.
How! beat your Husband, poor unthinking Thing,
Pray listen here, whate'er Disgrace you bring
Upon that Man, to your Confusion know,
The Infamy's your own, and always will be so.

Xan.
Nay, trust me, dearest Phebe, let me die,
But with some nasty Swine I'd chuse to ly,
Rather than such a neauseous Beast as he.

Ph.
But don't you often scold for such a Wrong?

Xan.
I think he knows I wanted not a Tongue.

Ph.
What next ensued?

Xan.
At first he bawl'd, and hector'd like a Bully,
Then I reply'd, poor, fond, mistaken Cully,
Thy foolish Threatning, if thou'rt wise, forbear,
Thy empty Jargon's all propost'rous here.
Weak, silly Craven, dost thou hope to try
Tongue-war with Women, and far less with me,
Who could not yield to thee, nor would, for Shame,
Fix such Disgrace on my great Foundress Name,
Who the first Noble of the Sex was made,
And had a Patent for the scolding Trade?
Hadst thou Ten thousand bawling Throats in one,
In vain thou striv'st to quell Xantippe's Tongue;
Nor are these half the Mischiefs I can do,
Which, if provok'd, thou to thy Cost shalt know.
Where e'er I am such Calumnies I'll spread,
Shall blast thy Fame and knock it on the Head:
Thy Credit shall be broke, thou shalt be poor,
I'll brand thee next with ev'ry little Whore;
Thy Name shall be a common Talk and Jest,
And then I'll turn thee to an horned Beast.

Ph.
O thour't a sad, vexatious, waspish Thing,
And thy Tongue poysons like a Scorpion's Sting.
But prithee now, Xantippe, let's suppose,
Such bitter Words may sometimes turn to Blows.
Or did they not?

(Xa.)
Yes Faith, you're right, my Dear,
'Twas once within an Ace of bloody War.
He grasp'd a lusty Cudgel, which he took
In both his Hands, with dire and threatning Look,
And swore immediate Vengeance on my Head.

Ph.
O Lord, Xantippe, were you not afraid?

Xan.
I snatch'd a large joynt Stool on which I sat,
Which I prepar'd to level at his Pate;
Thus we a while in warlike Posture stood,
Till Master bouncing Hector thought it good
To stop at last, and shed no Christian Blood.
Wag but an Ace, said I, by all that's bad,
This joynt Stool, Sir, shall crack your Loggerhead.

Ph.
Good Heav'ns! Xantippe, prithee hold for Shame,
And bring not such Disgrace on Womens Name.
Such vile Behaviour shocks the Moral Rules,
Are used by none but Beggars, Whores and Trulls.
But when it comes, that one the Cause must quit,
Heav'n's Laws ordain, that Wives should then submit.

Xa.
Pray hold thy senseless Cant what Laws enjoyn,
I'm still resolv'd to pay him in his Coin,
A restive Fool who wou'd such Homage crave,
Yet does not treat me like a Wife, but Slave.

Ph.
Well said, my Lass, but, prithee, now proceed.
He ceas'd his Threatnings, then I hope?

(Xan.)
He did,
And well for him he did, else, on my Soul,
I'd crush'd the Maggot in his empty Skull,
That hardn'd, brainless Skull, where nought remains,
But Maggot there, like stately Maggot, reigns.

Ph.
Yet you forbear not still to scold, I hope?

Xan.
No, Faith, I almost deafned the lewd Fop:
I strain'd my Quail-pipe to a Pitch more loud
Than six big-belly'd Women in a Crowd;
This stunn'd the Fool, and set him first to snore,
Then he'd laugh out with such a hideous Rore.
Then snatch'd his squeaking Fiddle half unstrung,
And such a Peal of hellish Discord rung,
That what with roring Voice and screaming Tone
At last he scrap'd, and squeak'd, and bawl'd me down.

Ph.
I think, my Lass, this touch'd you to the Quick.

Xan.
The very Thoughts on't, Phebe, make me sick.
Oh Lord!
This put me past all Sense, so that—G--- damn me,
I scarce forbare to beat the Rogue to Mummie;
And was so struck with Madness and Surprize,
I could have tore out both the Rascal's Eyes.

Ph.
But, why such Oaths? nay, rather keep thy Word
And knock him down, but do not swear so hard.
Now softly, Child, and hear me for a while,
Reflect, beware, and don't yourself beguile;
I'll give you Counsel in this last Resort,
Which, if you're wise, you'll take, and thank me for't.
Cou'd we, as foolish Women oft suppose,
Still shift our Husbands, as we do our Clothes,
And for each whimsical and senseless Freak,
Our poor submissive Cullies thus bespeak:
Pack hence, you sneaking Fool,—a Husband now
No more to me, nor I a Wife for you:
Then in each frumpish Mood and Discontent,
Fling out of Doors, and sue for Settlement,
And 'gainst the Rogues by Calumnies prevail,
For gross pretended Faults of Head or Tail:
Cou'd ev'ry Woman serve her Fellow thus,
'Twou'd then, indeed, be very well for us.

Xan.
Yes, Faith, it wou'd, and so I mean to do;
I'll kick him off, and then I'll chuse anew;
At least I'll get a Joynture by the by,
And let him then go hang, or chuse for me.

Ph.
Hold, prithee, Fool, don't cheat thyself in this,
Thou art, and must, in Spite of thee, be his;
The worse, I think, for him, that so it is:
But since the supreme Power will have it so,
Dar'st thou, a mad rebellious Thing, say no?

Xan.
I scarce believe Heav'n ever meant such Harm,
T'impose a Law which we can ne'er perform;
Nature's too weak, if so, the Law to bear,
Or else the Law for Nature's too severe.

Ph.
But rest secure that so it is, and you,
What ever comes, must always buckle to.
Indulgent Laws, of old, to Man allow'd,
To take, or put away, as he thought good;
But now are chang'd, you can't shake off your Man,
So wear your Chain as easie as you can.
Be he a Fop, or lewd, or whatsoe'er,
You must with all his Faults and Follies bear.
In what he likes you must his Taste approve,
And sooth him up with Blandishments and Love.
Be gay, obliging, easie, soft and kind,
And let no Jealousie approach your Mind.
Had you the Virtues of your Sex in one,
By this worst Plague, this cursed Whim alone,
You're past Redemption, ruin'd and undone;
For Jealousie's the Child of Pride and Lust,
The Phrenzie of the Mind, by Heav'n accurs'd.
Think what a wretched Figure thou dost make,
When once possest with this mad hellish Freak,
To see you run about with blubber'd Eyes,
And haggard Looks, in search of fresh Supplies,
To feed the frantick Passion, which, you know,
Did first create, and still augments your Wo.
Thou'rt in a Hell, then flee this cursed Gulf,
Or else go take a Rope and hang thy self.
But after all, I rather wish you'd try
What Help your soundest Reason can apply.
How much a Woman does depend on Man,
Reflect on this, and what Heav'ns Laws ordain:
In Cases dangerous, and hard to cure,
Then Patience is your Course, you must endure.
Think none from worst to best turn in a Trice,
Nor from the best to worst, but by Degrees.

Xan.
All this I grant, but, prithee, tell me now,
How Matters past at first betwixt you two?

Ph.
Some Clouds at first arose, which might have bred
A mighty Hurricane, but I comply'd,
And form'd my Temper to his weaker Side.
Each Man his diff'rent Manners has, and Taste,
So ev'ry one their Faults, and ev'n the best;
Which yet in Friendship, and the married State,
We ought indeed to know, but not to hate;
We cannot hate our Friend for what's amiss,
And love him too, so we must wink at this.
At first, you ought, of all Things, to take care
Your Tempers never clash, nor interfere;
And this you cannot bring about, until
You each the other's Genius study well:
So fit your Taste to his, then he of course
Must next approve, and so fall in with yours.
No formal starch'd Compliance must appear,
All must be true, and sound, and genuin here:
Such complimental Friendship's but a Jest,
An empty Whim, and turns to Hate at last.

Xan.
Then tell me truly, how you first began
To bring about your fine delicious Man?

Ph.
If you'll observe, I'll shew you every Touch.

Xan.
Indeed I will, and you'll oblige me much.

Ph.
Then first I made it my immediate Care,
To give a moving Touch, and sprightly Air
To Words and Things, that still he might observe,
That all was meant his Friendship to preserve.
What he dislik'd, or did approve, I still
Observ'd, and bent my Customs to his Will.
So do we manage thus the noble Horse,
Or Elephant, which can't be tam'd by Force;
We use no frightful Voice, nor stern Command,
But gently soothe, and stroke them with the Hand:
This mitigates their Fierceness, and allays
Their Heat, and makes them do whate'er we please.
Much more to Man we ow this Pains and Cost,
Who brings us all the Honour we can boast,
And without whom, what ever we can bring,
A Woman's but a poor insipid Thing—

Xan.
But pray go on, thy Simile holds good,
My Husband's such a Beast as you have shew'd.

Ph.
So I went on to suit his Temper thus,
And still took care that nothing was amiss.

Xa.
Which way?

(Ph.)
In all domestick Things I strove
In minute Instances to please my Love.

Xan.
As how?

Ph.
Whatever Dish he lik'd, or what Way drest,
I still took care to cook it to his Taste;
What ever Bed he chose, or how design'd
To hav't done up, he had it to his Mind.

Xan.
But now, with all your nicest Methods, come,
Pray, what dost with him, when he's not at home?
Or if he is, when who ne'er comes to Bed,
But when mad drunk, or with an aking Head?

Ph.
I'll come to that, but you must also know,
When he is dumpish, chagrin, grave, or so,
Then still I'm sad, and melancholy too,
And never jest nor laugh as others do.
Just as true Mirrours represent the Face,
A true good Wife's the same in every Case.
But if he's angry, still I sooth him on
With smooth and Honey Words,—or hold my Tongue
Till he be calm and cool; then I begin
To pour the Balm of friendly Counsel in:
And if he's drunk, this constant Rule I keep,
With pleasant Songs I lull him fast asleep.

Xan.
Nay, Faith, but thou'rt the goodest Thing alive,
If what thou now relat'st one cou'd believe:
But oh! the hard Conditions of a Wife,
That to such Drudg'ry must be bound for Life,
Who, be they drunk, or mad, or what they do,
We must at once submit, and suffer too.

Ph.
Mary come up, proud Minx, and have not we
Our Faults and Foliesl too as well as they?
And since they bear with us, why, in the Name
Of Justice, ought not we to bear with them?
Yet there's a Time when we may gently tell
Our Grievances, if they are worth the while;
For trivial Things and small Escapes 'tis best
To laugh them o'er, or turn them to a Jest.

Xa.
And then what next?

(Ph.)
I took a Time, when he
Was most himself, from Drink or Chagrin free,
In private then, and to the softest Terms
I added all the Rhet'rick of my Charms;
And then began to tell him this—and this,
(Then interlac'd each Sentence with a Kiss)
He might correct or change, if he thought fit,
'Twas very well, if not, I wou'd submit.
When this was done, I smil'd, and then stopt short,
Then clipt, and buss'd, and fell to other Sport:
For this is Woman's Fault when once begun,
Their Tongues but set a Clack, they ne'er have done,
But like a Clock with Chimes still rattle on.

Xa.
Why, so they say.

(Ph.)
Therefore I still am sure
Never to chide when Company's before,
Nor ever carry Quarrels out of Door.
Then next, against your Husband, you must learn,
Never to blab a Secret of Concern
That wrongs his Honour, Continence or Fame;
This when we do, it is a mighty Shame.
She that cries out, My Husband's apt to range,
Plainly betrays her Fondness for a Change.
We either Way are to ourselves unjust,
Or Want of Sense betray, or too much Lust.
Therefore take care, be cautious on this Score,
He hates you else more than he lov'd before.

Xan.
Let stanch Pilosophers your Methods try,
But I'm afraid they'll prove too hard for me,
I'll ne'er be brought to idolize a Man
So much, for all thy Virtuoso Strain.

Ph.
Yet by such easie gentle Means as these,
We bring our Men to do whate'er we please.

Xan.
But there are some incorrigible Men
That won't reclaim, do what a Woman can.

Ph.
But grant that, which you cannot make appear,
Then which is best, to keep bad as they are,
As needs we must, or mend them by our Care;
Or by our jealous Whims, (the Woman's Curse)
And other Madness, turn them still the worse?
But there are Instances that can be nam'd,
Where Men have oft a stubborn Wife reclaim'd:
And then I think you'll grant me this at least,
We ought as much with them to do our best.
I know a Gentleman of famous Parts,
Well bred, and vers'd in the politest Arts,
And he wou'd needs a Farmer's Daughter wed,
A rude young Girl, and in the Country bred;
Whom he on purpose chose, tho' meanly born,
A blooming Wench, and fitted to his Turn,
Was altogether of the rustick Stamp,
Wild, haggard and unbred, in short a Romp,
Yet thought if he cou'd form her to his Taste,
She'd do as well as any of the best.
To Musick first he bred her, and the Arts,
Which most improve the Mind, and form the Parts;
But she to such strange Things, unus'd as yet,
The rompish Thing began to vex and fret.
What ails my litle Dear, says he? Thou'rt sad,
And weep'st too much—Indeed I'm very bad;
I hate this Life, nor will be so confin'd
To Things that are so much against my Mind.
I'll read none of your foolish Books, not I,
Nor mind this Learning, no, I'll rather die—
Come kiss me, pretty Thing it sha'n't be so,
But thou and I will to the Country go;
And at thy Father's there divert a while.
At this, the little Tit began to smile.
When they arriv'd, he, from their Father's House,
Invites him out, and there he leaves his Spouse.
And thus begins, Sir, yonder Girl of yours,
Is mad and resty, like a coltish Horse.
I thought she shou'd have made a pleasant Mate,
But find myself deceiv'd, I fear, too late.
“A froward, peevish, wild, cat-witted Thing,
“Whom no Endeavours can to Method bring:
“A Counterfeit, like most of all her Kind,
“A well-shap'd Face, with an ill-shapen Mind.
“Now see what Change upon her you can make,
“And cure her, if thou canst, or take her back.
But, said the Father, Sir, I once gave o'er
This Girl to you, and with her all my Power,
Without Reserve, and she consents; so then
I never can assume that Power again.
So you once more had best new Methods try;
And where good Counsel fails, let Drubs supply.
“Says he, I know my Power well enough,
“Yet still I've thought such Methods much too rough.
“A Parent's Art may oftentimes prevail,
“When other Means, and best Endeavours fail.
Sir, I confess, you act a generous Part,
And I'll take care to use my utmost Art.
Within some Days he takes the Wench, then first
Against her Head he clench'd his horny Fist;
With dreadful Looks and Terror in his Eyes,
He, to the heedless Girl's extreme Surprize,
Here threatens instantly to knock her down.
And then begins. “You Jade, what's this you've done?
“How durst you disoblige your Husband so?
“Thou graceless, vile, ingrateful Gypsie, thou
“A nasty Beggar, whom for Wife he chose,
“Who scarce wast worthy to have wip'd his Shoes;
“For thou hast such a base distorted Soul,
“That none wou'd venture on thee but a Fool.
“Yet with excessive Pains and Industrie,
“I have procur'd, for vile unworthy thee,
“A Man so brave, so gen'rous, and so good,
“Of whom the greatest Ladies might be proud:
“Yet, like a Grandchild of the Prince of Hell,
“Thou dar'st against this best of Men rebel,
“'Gainst him who treats thee best, wilt thus recoil?
“By all that's good I'll beat thee into Oil.
Here, what by Fear and Threatning overcome,
The conscious Girl was almost quite struck dumb,
Falls on her Knees; says she, While I'm alive,
I'm all Obedience, if you'll but forgive.
Then drown'd in Tears, clings round her Husband's Neck,
And vow'd the utmost Duty and Respect;
For hitherto, alas, I did not know
Myself, (said she) nor dear and kindest you.
But pardon what has past, and you shall see,
That what you please shall be a Law to me.
So well I love you now, methinks I cou'd
E'en die to please you, nay, I'm sure I wou'd.
Then he, “Come hither now, my kindest Miss,
“I'll pardon all, and seal it with a Kiss.
With ev'ry Thing he did she still comply'd,
And with submissive Cheerfulness obey'd.
So 'twixt this Pair such rooted Friendship grew,
There was not any Thing too mean and low,
Which, for his sake, she wou'd not undergo.
Then all alone she wou'd reflect, and say,
O what a lost Thing had I been, if he
Had been as froward and unkind as I?

Xan.
Such Men as this for Prodigies may pass,
And scarcer than white Ravens now a days.

Ph.
Yet I could tell you, how some Wives have been
So lucky, as to have reform'd their Men,
(I do not mean transform'd, lest you might say,
I were among the Cuckold-making Fry)
Which in this City lately but fell out.

Xan.
You'll very much oblige me, if you'll do't.

Ph.
A Nobleman there was, who stay'd at Court,
Yet lov'd his Hounds, and Hawks, and Country-sport.
One Day as he was riding at the Chace,
He chanc'd to spy a blooming Country Lass.
Here Cupid in a Trice had play'd his Part,
And am'rous Glances soon betray'd each Heart.
“Now, prithee, Honey, where dost stay I'd know.
Sir, if you'll come along I'll shew you now.
Away he went, then straight dismiss'd his Train,
And orders 'em next Day to wait again.
The Girl he thought a dainty rel'shing Bit,
And with her pass'd a pleasant merry Night;
So charming to his Taste she did appear,
Scarce pass'd a Day in which he was not there.
The wanton Girl was no less pleas'd than he,
So pass'd their Time in merry Jollity.
He to his Lady often wou'd complain
Of a Court Life, then he must hunt again.
A long Time thus he carry'd on the Cheat.
At last his Wife began to smell a Rat;
Tho she was one so excellently good,
She needs must love him, do whate'er he wou'd.
Then to the Country all alone repair'd,
And ask'd how such a one had liv'd and far'd,
Who often had been there; he is, said she,
A Man of Worth, and near akin to me.
Then said the Girl, Madam, upon my Word,
There comes a Man, I'm sure he is a Lord:
He often uses here to sup and dine,
He loves me too, and oh! he's wond'rous fine;
And I love him, and he's content to eat
Of such mean homely Fare as we can get,
A Flitch of Bacon, or a Slice of Cheese,
He'll chuse with me, before the choicest Dish.
Upon a Flockbed in the Floor we ly,
And I cou'd chuse with him to live and die.
Says Madam, you oblige me on this Score,
But I'll provide him better Furniture.
Then gets my Lady back to Town in haste,
And brought of all her Houshold-stuff the best,
A damask Bed, a Set of richest Plate,
With all that did befit his Lordship's State.
So every Thing was nice and dainty there,
That fits the Gusto of a noble Peer.
Here's Gold, says she, so, pray, take care my Lord
Do nothing want that Money can afford.
Cloy'd with his Fare in Town, my Lord thought good
To taste again a little Country Food.
But he was much surprized, you may suppose,
To find such gawdy Things in such a House.
Whence all this Fin'ry, Goody, now, says he
To th'Mother of the Girl—O Lord! says she,
A Woman, finer far than I can tell,
Brought all this Gear and Gold, a woundy deal,
And bid take care your Lordship have good Sport;
And so I hope you shall, Heav'n bless her for't.
My Lord was hush, and never said a Mum,
But soon concludes this must be Bess at home.
Comes back in haste: Now tell me, if you please,
Were you not lately, Dear, in such a Place?
Indeed, says she, I won't deny I was.
But why such Things sent there, on what Design?
Pray, do not higgle now, but tell me plain.
My Lord, 'tis not your Custom, well I know,
To eat in wooden Dish, or ly on Straw;
Then where you meant for Pleasure to repair,
I ought to make that Pleasure still my Care:
And this I did, that you hereby might prove,
How much I hate the Avarice of Love.
Forc'd Love, and harsh Constraint, are Things so mean,
They never but with servile Minds obtain.

Xan.
Had I been she, to shew my great Respect,
I'd serv'd his Lordship quite another Trick.
I would have spread a good convenient Hutch
Of Furs and Nettles, to have scrubb'd his Breech;
But she's too good.

(Ph.)

Xan.
Why, Faith, I'd given her old Xantippe's Drench,
Then dragg'd her by the Hair, and plung'd the Whore
Into some nasty Jakes, or common Shore.

Ph.
Yes questionless, but she was wiser far,
Who kindly entertain'd the loving Pair;
So got her Husband home without a Charm,
In this, I think, she did herself no Harm.
Please you to stay at Home but now and then,
Allow, says she, a Part, I won't complain;
'Tis bootless for me to ingross a Man
Against his Will, I'm sure I never can.
So then, the Wench is very welcome here,
And when you eat abroad, I'll then take care
To send you of the best we have a Share:
Then cheerfully may you both live and feed.
Thanks, said the Girl, and so they all agreed.

Xan.
But I had sooner wish me in my Grave,
Than bawd it thus for any Man alive.

Ph.
But when you wed for better and for worse,
Reflect now, pray, which is the safest Course,
To live in Peace, as very well you may,
Rebate your Pride, and prudently comply,
Than still to moil in such pernicious Strife,
Which makes him lothe and nauseate thee for Life,
And sicken at the very Name of Wife.

Xan.
The Course you urge is safest here, no doubt,
And best; but I can never bring't about.

Ph.
Thou'rt sear'd, and dost not thy Distemper feel,
And wou'dst not for a Heav'n exchange thy Hell.
Thou'rt jealous: Why? The Cause, thy Lust and Pride,
And twenty other nameless Whims beside;
Self-love, Revenge, mixt up in one curs'd Mass,
Must make thee for a very Devil pass.
I know a Fellow in the Neighbourhood,
Once beat his Wife in some unlucky Mood.
After some Days, he found her all alone,
Lamenting her hard Fate with dismal Tone.
What ails thee, pray, my pretty little Fubs,
Says he? methinks thou'rt in thy Mulligrubs.
Why, pray, says she, and is't not better, now
To mourn alone, as here you see me do,
Than rail abroad, and keep an endless Pother,
As Women often do with one another?
I hate such Things, I'll act the prudent Part,
Whate'er you do, tho' you shou'd break my Heart.
And won't it rail, poor injur'd Thing, says he?
I swear thou shalt have no more Cause for me.

Xan.
I thus my Hero did by Promise bind,
But from a Reason of a diff'rent Kind.

Ph.
But 'twixt you two is a perpetual War.

Xan.
Pray, what wou'dst have me do in this Affair?

Ph.
First you must smother all Defects that pass
Among our peevish Wives for lewd and gross;
Such meek and gentle Offices as these,
Will bring him in to love you by Degrees.
At last you'll overcome, or if not so,
You'll lead a far more pleasant Life than now.
Try what a little Time can bring about,
Forget all Faults, and Blemishes blot out:
Next, Curtain-lectures you must still avoid,
These much Disgust, and much Resentment breed;
For she that scolds, and plays the Shrew a-bed,
Will in no other Place be satisfi'd.
Yet some are of a Nature so perverse,
They chide, when at the Sport which most shou'd please:
Like peevish Brats of an untoward Brood,
They bite the Bubby whence they draw their Food;
Like Cats they couple, when they've once begun,
They scratch and catterwaul till they have done:
Thus taint the Pleasures which shou'd Love promote,
And poyson ev'n the very Antidote.

Xan.
Yes, Faith, when closest link'd in Cupid's Nooze,
I cou'd have once, methought, bit of his Nose.

Ph.
O fy, in ev'ry Thing you shou'd take care
To please, but most of all in this Affair:
But you look on Obedience as a Sham,
As Men were made for you, not you for them.

Xan.
Yet if such Men to vex us are resolv'd,
Then we from our Obedience are absolv'd.

Ph.
But if Heav'n's Laws stand good, you cannot chuse;
Your Part is to obey, and not oppose:
Yet you must needs dispute, whether 'tis best,
To fear Heav'n's Laws, or turn them to a Jest.
You won't obey, so Heav'n has done amiss,
A very learned Way of Reas'ning this!
There's not a resty Fellow of all the Kind,
But whom we Women, if we please, cou'd mend.
You pore upon the faulty Sides of Men,
Which still exaggerates and feeds your Spleen;
Then, from a self-conceited Pride, go on
To aggravate his Faults, and mince your own,
And brand him still with your malicious Tongue;
Expose his Faults to ev'ry one you meet,
Of what he loves deprive him out of Spite.
Yet this same witty Method you approve;
To plague Men thus, yet still to claim their Love,
'Tis just the same, as if I shou'd suppose
To please my Friend, yet pull him by the Nose.
Shou'd I but hold him there, 'twere pretty much
If he were thus oblig'd. Your Case is such.
But if you wou'd secure your Friend indeed,
You still must view him on the brightest Side.
Find always something in him to commend,
You, thus, by such Endeavours gain your Friend;
So hold him on, and so obtain your End.
Most Women now do hold it for a Rule,
To love the handsom Outside of a Fool.
They chuse their Men as Children do their Toys,
Some chuse for Paint and Gilding, some for Noise.
They're set agog by the fine strutting Beau,
And caught with senseless Chat and empty Show.
He'll before twenty Men of Parts succeed,
Tho' no more Brains he carrys in his Head,
Than wou'd a Chicken, or two Sparrows feed.
These two, when match'd a while, they dally on,
And think their Stock of Love will ne'er be done.
When fondest she up to his Arms has giv'n
Her utmost Charms, which once he fancy'd Heav'n,
The tasteless Pleasure now begins to cloy,
And she no more can charm, nor he enjoy,
And wanting Sense t'uphold their ill-made Choice,
Their Love resolves in Jangling, Brawls and Noise.
But your Part is not now to blame a Man,
Whom once you chose, but help him all you can.

Xan.
The Time's now past, I've play'd myself a Cheat,
So your Advice, I fear, comes now too late.

Ph.
But why too late? You reason badly here,
The more if any Children yet appear.

Xan.
Yes, one appears, and he, I fear, too soon,
A chopping Boy, and in the Sev'nth new Moon.

Ph.
A Boy so soon! now, prithee, tell me how?

Xan.
There happ'ned once some Prattling 'twixt us two.

Ph.
By Prattling Boys begot! I think that's new.

Xan.
The naughty Wag caught me one Day alone,
And we to laugh, and jest, and play began:
So next he fell to tickling of my Side,
The which to shun I flung me on the Bed;
He tickled, hugg'd, and press'd to that Degree,
That O! he hugg'd me to an Extasie.
What more he did I can't distinctly tell,
But in few Months I found my Belly swell.

Ph.
How dar'st thou thus despise him then, who can,
Ev'n in his Jest, beget on thee a Man?

Xan.
These boist'rous Men no Women can resist.
Out on him for a rude unruly Beast,
He'd force me play, I fear, a second Jest.

Ph.
That's well enough, but I perceive the while
Your Husband cultivates no barren Soil.

Xan.
Ay, here he overdoes his Part again.

Ph.
Faith, that's a Fault of which few Wives complain.
But now to put an End to this Discourse,
In my Opinion then, your wisest Course
Is to comply, since there's no getting loose.
But grant you cou'd, where's all the mighty Gain,
When you a poor neglected Thing remain?
A very mean and abject Wight indeed,
Just like a senseless Corps pull'd from the Head.
And Ten to One, perhaps, in this Regard
You get the Name of Whore for your Reward.
The highest Character we Wives can gain,
Is, to be soft and pliant to our Men;
To this Heav'ns Laws and Nature's do subscribe,
That we Submission pay without a Bribe.
Then, if you're wise, this surer Method try,
Resolve to please your Husband ev'ry Way.
Be always easie in each Circumstance,
And don't pretend to dictate to his Sense:
Remember there's a certain Rev'rence due,
Still to be mix'd with all you say or do.
Be never fond, nor pert, nor insolent;
With whom he loves be easie and content.
And then when he has got his Bottle in,
And is dispos'd to touch his Violin,
If you to grace it with a Song comply,
He'll then conclude, you love him mightily.
Such Things if you'll observe, as I have done,
He'll then exchange your Company for none.
But there's a Secret in this whole Affair,
That keeps all right, of which you must take care.
Be thankful for what ever you receive,
And claim no more of you know what, than he's dispos'd to give.