The Fifteen comforts of rash and inconsiderate marriage, or, Select animadversions upon the miscarriages of a wedded state done out of French.

THE First COMFORT. Young Formality, and a Foppish Fe∣male Citt.

YOUTH is naturally inclined to Mirth and Gallantry, with all the Briskness and Gaiety ima∣ginable; has Limbs agile and active, fancying nothing but Musick, Dancing, Balls and Plays, where the Variety of Female Objects fire the Young Sparks, in so much as Love soon breaks out, and many times to their Ru∣in and Destruction. In this Heat of Pas∣sion the Youngster visits Ladies, Comple∣ments after the new mode, Caresses them with all demonstrations of fervent Affe∣ctions, makes his Amours with a kind of starch'd Formality, which turns all into Ridicule, tho possibly that set way of Courship may please the Foppish Female Cit, and gratifie her Childish Humour: Thus far he proceeds with Applause and

Acceptance, but this will no way satis∣fie the Young Gentleman, he must come to Embraces, free her from the Curse of Barrenness, and himself from the Scandal of Impotence; and now the Game be∣gins; he is pregnant with Love and must be delivered, tho the Remedy proves ten times worse than the Disease; in short he plies the business so briskly, and pursues her with that Warmth and Constancy, that she can no longer resist, but in spight of all her Maiden Modesty, must yield to his Proposals, tho she perchance Counterfeit a Blush at the Condescention, she be∣ing as ready to comply with him, as he to apply himself to her, and as willing to understand the Sweets of the Marriage Bed, as the Hot Youth that so vigorously pursues her. Thus in a short time the whole Business is con∣cluded, and the Solemnity of their Ma∣trimony perform'd with as much, or ra∣ther more Vanity and Expence than is consistent with the Ability of either, or both of them; but fall back, fall edge, the Knot is tied, never to be loosened, but by Death, the Priest having joyn'd them so firmly together, that 'tis impos∣sible to un-hand them again; tho pro∣bably before the Moon hath run her

Menstruous Course, the Husband may ap∣pear like that Grand Luminary in her first Quarter, and she curse the Canonical Garb that fastned them in so strict a Band as that of Marriage, as will appear, and that very suddenly.

Now you must imagine, that our Gal∣lant minds nothing for the present, but the satiating himself with Delight, Dan∣cings, Treats, and such kind of Diversions as usually attend such ridiculous and idle Conjunctions. There appears as yet no∣thing but Mirth and Jollity, no Scene of Sorrow is admitted in this Comedy; his whole design is to pleave and court his Wife with ravishing Addresses, under∣stands nothing but what she approves, nor entertains his Thoughts with any thing but the Contrivance of presenting her with Bagatels and little Toys, such as are apt to gratifie the vain Humor of a foppish young Girl, drawn into the Net, and wheadled or cajol'd into the Pit of Marriage: well, no matter, let them both run their own Career; these seem∣ing Blessings, this Counterfet Felicity, this mask'd Love, and vizarded Content, will prove but short-liv'd, and then let the troubles of the whole time after be balanced with those few suppositious and

imaginary Delights they enjoyed in the Infancy of their Marriage, and the Vexa∣tions of the one will out-weigh the satis∣faction of the other, by so many degrees, that Arithmetick it self can never describe its true and due Proportion. Now the time of Dalliance being over, and the Cares of the World coming upon them, you shall understand a strange and unex∣pected Alteration, which we may call, (and I hope without Offence) the First Comfort of Matrimony.

Now the Wife we must suppose to be well acquainted with the cunning In∣trigues of a married Woman, and is not to be taught her Lesson; Feasts, Gossip∣ings and Treats, have instructed her suf∣ficiently how to personate the subtile Wife with an Uxorious Husband, and she begins to make an essay of her Woman-Craft according to the humor of those she conversed with in the Female Cabals, usu∣ally frequented by her; and thus she be∣gins to play her Pranks: The other day she was invited to a Regale, a very noble Treat indeed, where there was nothing wanting to gratifie the Appetite; she took great notice of the Habit and Attire of se∣veral Wives of her own Rank and Qua∣lity, how richly they were accoutred, and

after the newest Mode; this was so great ••n Eye-sore to her, that she watched an op∣••ortunity to disclose her mind to her Hus∣••band, thinking it but reasonable that she should appear as gay and as Genteel as the best Dame in the Parish. Now you must observe by the way, that that Woman, who is once intoxicated with the Cup of Matrimony, is very strangely qualified, and differently tempered from most of her Sex, if she be not once in twenty four hours troubled with the Sullens or the Pouts (a Disease as natural to her as Gos∣siping, and both incurable) tho counter∣feit and causless; and where think you is the Scene of her Sullenness? why, assu∣redly in Bed, a place where Womens feign∣ed Tears and Sighs have an excellent Fa∣culty of perswasion; and now being brought to Bed, let us examine her De∣portment, there she lies like the Statue of Niobe petrified, and for a time as senceless; whereupon the amorous Husband begins to accost her with Accollado's and Em∣braces, asking her what is the matter, pre∣thee, my Dear, (saith he) for he can for∣bear no longer, what ail'st thou? To whom she snappishly replies, let me alone, don't disturb me, I am very much indis∣posed, and have reason enough too, God

knows, but you never regard what I say, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 or suffer, your Unkindness sticks so close•• to my heart, that nothing will remove it•• but Death; I'm sure I shall never rest, but in that place of undisturbed Rest (the on∣ly Dormitory of Mortals) the Grave. Dearest! saith he, you pierce my very Heart, and wound me to the Soul with such severe Language: Why, If I should acquaint you with my Disturbance, it were to no purpose; for I'm confident you would slight it, or which is as bad, think I have private self-ends or designs in it: No, no, you shall tell me, I am resolv'd, come what will on't: Well Sir, since you impose your Commands upon me, I will obey. You are not insensible, I'm sure, that not long since I was in∣vited to a Collation, tho I had not gone, but with your permission and approba∣tion; yet when I was there, with great grief I speak it, I heartily wisht my self at home agen; for there was not one Indi∣vidual Woman in the whole Company, tho of the meanest Rank, but was more gayly cloath'd than my self; I do not speak it out of Pride, tho, I think, I may say without Ostentation, that I am as well extracted, have had as good Edu∣cation, have as commendable a Face,

Carriage and Complexion, without the Artificial Embelishments of Paint, Patch and Powder, as the proudest she of them ••ll. As to my own particular, I solemn∣••y protest, upon the Faith of an honest Woman, I do not value the outward Or∣••aments of Aparrel: For the gaudiest Robes are but the Badges of our Sin and Shame: It is only for your Credit, and ••he Reputation of our Friends and Rela∣••ions that I am so much concern'd. Pre∣••hee how gloriously did they appear? ••ome in Flower'd Sattin Gowns, embroi∣••ered with Gold; Petticoats adorn'd with ••he best Point de Venise, attir'd with their Hair, and their ears adorn'd with costly ••endants, their Necks encompassed with Pearls, and the graver sort in the best ••hree-Pil'd Velvet; insomuch that I, ap∣••earing only in my wedding Gown, and ••hat, tho nigh worn out, the best Suit 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my Ward-robe, could not forbear blush∣••ng all the time I was in Company; nay, •…•…at which troubled me most, was, that ••ne or two of our Neighbours told me, •…•…ey did admire my Husband was not a∣••amed to see me go in so mean a Garb. ••o which the good man replies, Sweet Heart, you know, that we have been at ••reat Charges to furnish our selves so well

as we are; that Trading decays, Losses have befallen us: I have a chargeable Suit at Law to defend next Term for the Re∣covery of your Portion, which will cost me many a fair Pound before I enjoy it. Ay, ay, (quoth she) I did Imagine as much, and expect no other from you, but (what I am now sensible to my Sor∣row) Reproaches; and so in a Pet she flings out of his Arms with Scorn and In∣dignation; pray let me alone, don't come near me; and I'll assure you for the fu∣ture, I'll never open my Lips to you agen as long as I breath upon this acount; therefore pray rest satisfied: But hold, Love, are you angry without a cause? No, no, the contrary is too apparent; the Portion sticks in my stomach as well as yours; had you had nothing with me I am not in a Capacity to bestow any thing upon you now, my Love and Af∣fection to you, methinks should prevent such Reflections; but you know, as mean as I was, that I was Courted by several before ever you made any Address to me, who would have been glad with all their hearts to have married me without so much as a Smock to cover my Shame, had not you interpos'd and gained my Heart, which now you study to plague

and Torment. O unfortunate Woman ••hat I am! but I must be content with my choice, and bear all as patiently as I can; would I were as deep in the ground as I am high, and then you would be rid of me, and I of my trouble: Really Love, saith the Novice, you do not well in using of me thus, ask what you please, and you shall have it to the utmost of my Ability; but yet I must have a Care of the main Chance; prithee turn to me, my dear: for Gods sake, let me be quiet; if you thought no more of fondness in this na∣ture, than I do, you would never come near me more, I am not so Bucksom, I'll assure you: Ay, but Child, saith he, in a Jocular way, if my Head were once laid, you would soon be Married agen, I war∣••ant you; would I, (saith she) in truth, I find so little Pleasure or Comfort in a Wedded Condition, that if I were once unmarried, I would be so far from it, that ••he best he, that ever laid Leg over Wo∣man, should never so much as touch my ••ips, as long as I have a day to live, take ••hat from me, and be satisfied. With ••his kind of Dissimulation she entertains ••he Fop, who is both in Pleasure and Pain ••t once; in Pleasure to think she is so Cold ••nd Chast a Wife; in Pain, because he

sees her so much disturbed. Thus she Treats him all Day with a Contracted Brow, and all night with such flattering Discourses, not one good word is he wor∣thy of, so that he is forced to beat his Brains for Money to purchase the Rich Gown and Petticoat, the want of which is the Source and Original of both their Discontents. Well! they must be had, quo jure, quaque injuria, by Hook, or by Crook, no slumher will seize upon his Eye lids, till this be procured; away he goes, susque deque, hand over head, taking up, upon Credit, Silks, Laces, Jewels, and what not, and then returns home in Triumph, with the Spoil of the Mercer's Shop, and calls down his Wife to survey the desired Purchase; which she no sooner spies, but like acunning Baggage dissem∣bles, and says, Fy, Husband, in troth, you are now to blame, these are too Rich Vest∣ments for a person of my Condition, they will not at all become me, I fear: beshrew the hearts of those lofty Dames, that first invented such costly Apparel; I would not give six pence for the best Gown that ever Female body was Tenant to: but however, since you have been so kind, let me beg one supernumerary favour of you not to hit me in the Teeth hereafter with

it, and say, I put you to this chargeable expence: for upon my Reputation (and that is not to be valued) it was none of my intention; I desire no other Garb than what is requisite for Warmth and Decen∣cy. Now all is well, and the Man shall have his Mare agen; they live lovingly and quietly till the day (O that fatal day!) of Payment; the Money cannot be procur'd to stop the Mouths of his Cre∣ditors, who being disappointed, use the utmost rigour of the Law against him, seize his Body and Goods, extend his Lands, turn his Wife a grazing into the wide World, where she has only the liberty of choosing what Kingdom she pleases to beg in, and he, poor undone Man, is clapt into a Goal, there to endure a close and beggarly Confinement, durante vita; where he has time and room enough to lament his Deplorable Condition. The Woman she returns to her Friends, Cursing the hour that she was born in: never such a disgrace befel a Woman of her Birth and Education. Alas! Alas! (saith she) have I studied oeconomie all my life long, and ta∣ken so much pains in governing my Fa∣mily, been as sparing as any good Wife in the Parish, and all to keep both ends together, and is it come to this at last? O

Death, come and put a Period to my Mi∣sery! Thus the harmless Woman bemoans her misfortune, lays all the fault at the poor Man's door, (poor Man indeed) and now he is fast in the Net, and the more he struggles, the more he is intangled; in short, he's laid up for his Life, and his Creditors, (for that's all they're like to have) may make Dice of his Bones.

The Second COMFORT. The Credulous Coxcomb, the Gadding Jilt, and Cousin-Gallant.

IT is the Misfortune of some Men, (and those some are too many, God wot) to prepossess themselves with a Conceit, that Reason, Sence and Demonstration can ne∣ver convince them of; such is the case of the Husband that enjoys the second Comfort of Matrimony we are now discoursing of, who will not be persuaded by all the World, but she is the Hansomest Woman in it, tho he is much mistaken; but I cannot blame him; for Beauty is nothing but meer Fancy, and if I conceit black and blue to be a comely Complexion, it is so to me: Having thus in his own Opinion Married a Fine Wo∣man; he maintains her as finely: Her

brisk humour inclines her to Visits, Treats, and Jovial Meetings; tho this her Hus∣band disrelisheth, but all to no purpose; for she's of a gadding temp•…•…, and out she must for Health and Recreation; but how to contrive the way to effect it quietly, hic labor, hoc opus; she is invited to a Feast, and a pretended Friend or Relation (who is no more of kin to her than Sir George is to the Dragon) however he comes to her, and she Salutes him by the name of Cousin, good Cousin, dear Cousin! and her Mother, to palliate the business, calls him so too, she knowing the better how to manage that Amorous Affair, because it hath been her own Condition formerly; but the Husband is unwilling to have her go, alledging many faint and frivolous Excuses; yet to take off all Jealousie from the Good-man, her Friend will say, in good Faith, Cousin, I have no mind at all to go to this Feast, I have business to do, nor would I set a foot over the Threshold, God knows my heart, were it not for your and my she Cousins Credit; and you know 'tis neither Modest nor Modish, for a Gentlewoman of her Rank to bestow Visits without an Attendant; tho I am satisfied she is averse to any such kind of Promenade, or Collation; for of all Wo∣men,

that ever I knew, when she is abroad she makes such ado to come home, that she almost disturbs the Company. The silly Fop now begins to encline and grant the Request; but first asks what Company they expect at this Entertainment? Ex∣cellent Company indeed Cousin! there will be your Mother-in-Law, my Wife, your Cousin, Mr. such a ones Daughter, and most of the good Neighbourhood; Company fit for a Princess, Men and Wo∣men of Quality. Well (quoth the Man) you may go, for this once, but I hope you don't intend to make a Trade on't, have a care of your self, and be sure you don't bring Night home with you. Leave being thus obtained, the subtle Lady feigns an unwillingness, saying, indeed Love! I care not for going out at present, let me intreat you that I may stay at home; but he, having a great Confidence in the Cou∣sin, says, nay, nay, sweet Heart, I would not have you so ungentile, as to disappoint your Neighbours, since you are ready, and the Assignation is pre-design'd, prethee, Child go; whereupon away she frisks like Lightning with her Cousin-Gallant, fleer∣ing all the way at the contented one at home, saying, that he has some small smack of Jealousie, (and a great deal of Reason

for it.) To the Place they come, and are no sooner arrived, but she is Nobly re∣ceived for her Husband's sake, Treated with Airs, Balls, Banquets, and a thou∣sand pretty little Frolicks and amorous Gambals, not fit to be here mentioned: All her Lovers are now met together, like Flies in Summer, every one intending to have a lick at her Honey-pot; every one putting forward, as he finds opportunity. One Complements her at a very Modish rate; the other Presents her with a rich Diamond; one gives her the gentle Tread on the Toe, en passant, as the Frenchman hath it; the other gives her the amorous Squeeze of the hand; another leaning dis∣pondently upon his Elbow, reaches her with a languishing Eye; So that she must needs be void of all Sense, if she depart without understanding all their good in∣tentions. Thus every Spark endeavours (as much as in him lies) to make her Hus∣band bear the Turkish Ensign of Christian Matrimony in the Van; which at last proves the occasion of her shame and his sorrow; for either by the mis-manage∣ment, or mis-timing of her Amorous De∣signs, or the discovery of her Frolicks by some special Friend or Relation, the Hus∣band comes to understand the whole

Truth, and nothing but the Truth, which drives him into a strange Paroxysm of Profound Melancholy, that all the Helle∣bore among the Anticyrae can never reco∣ver him: if he attempt to strike her, that won't do, but only add fuel to her Fire; that will take off her Affection, so that she will never dally with him, but only to pass away the time for want of better Company, and make use of him only as a Cloak to shrowd and conceal her Lascivi∣ousness. Thus is the poor Gentleman sensi∣ble of the Second Matrimonial Solace, being now fast bound to Ixion's Wheel of Misery, where he must live in a most laguishing, and die in a very miserable Condition.

The Third COMFORT. The Bonny Girl, Twatling Gossips, and Contented Drudge.

THE Youngsters of this Wanton Age, are so high-fed, live so much at ease, their Blood is so plentiful and sprightly, that they cannot contain themselves long without an Evacuation of the Extrava∣gancies of the Fourth Concoction, and so must take a Wife (the Remedy often∣times proving worse than the Disease)

and eagerly pursue their own Misery and Discontent; for our young Couple being Married, at the usual time the Teeming Bonny Girl grows big, tho possibly (as it too frequently falls out) not by the sup∣posed Father; and now he begins to un∣derstand the Misery, Trouble and Afflicti∣on of a wedded Life; now must the poor Fellow trot all about the Town on his Wife's Errands, to purchase all things that may please her, if possible; for she begins to be squemish, her Stomach fails, grows weak and peevish, like her self, and nothing will down with her but what is of the best; now he must trudge about night and day, ransack Heaven and Earth for Delicacies to cherish and comfort her, and empty his Purse to fill her Paunch with Dainties; and this pleasant life must be led for six or seven Moneths together, while his Wife Pampers her Carcass at home, and can scarce get a good word for his pains (a poor Gratuity for his kind∣ness) nay probably, complains she is not so carefully provided for, as other Women in her Condition; altho the poor Man rises early, goes to Bed-late, and eats the Bread of Carefulness, contriving all ways possible, for the provision of his Family; but this is not all, the time of her falling

in pieces draws near, and here the poor Fellow is exposed to a world of Charge and Trouble; out he must to procure God-fathers and God-mothers, and such as she approves of too, for in this he is not al∣low'd the freedom of his own Election the Midwife must be fetcht, dry and we Nurses provided (a sort of chargeable Slut•• who will lap up more good Liquor in on•• day, than the good Husband swallows i•• a whole Week) in short, her Throes com•• very thick upon her, and she is surrounde•• with a Crew of Gossiping Neighbours•• the Good-man in the mean time is at h•• Devotion for her safe Delivery, which being over, then all his Care is to plea•• the Woman in the Straw, and her Twa••∣ling Companions, who eat and drin•• merrily, and he spares no cost to entertai•• them, and if any thing displeases them 'tis forty to one, but one of the Gossi•• starts up and says, in troth, Mrs. I do v••∣ry much wonder, and so does all th•• Company, that your Husband takes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more care of you and your Child, especi∣ally being your First-born; what wou•• he do, I trow, had you five or six? say another, I'll assure you, if my Husban•• should serve me so, I would study Nigh•• and Day to be reveng'd of him; Indee

says a third, I would not have you put up this Affront patiently; for if he serves you thus at the first, his usage will be cour∣ser to you hereafter. Cousin, says a fourth, I admire, that you, being so discreet a Wo∣man, and of a good Family, that you can endure his unworthy behaviour to you, especially in this weakly condition: A∣las! replies the Wife, I know not what to do with him, he is so cross and unkind to me. Upon my word, saith the other, he is an ill-natur'd Man, that he is not here in person to attend on this good company: Then starts up a Bold, Impe∣rious Housewife, and thus begins to chat∣ter; All the Neighbours here know very well, it was a common Rumour of my Husband, that he was the untowardest Man in the World, and would often threa∣ten to break my bones, and be the death of me; but I thank my Stars for it, and my undaunted Spirit together, that I have tam'd him sufficiently; I have brought him now to that pass, that he dares as well eat his Nails, as do any thing to disoblige me. 'Tis very true, when we were first Married he began to be Lofty and Male∣pert, but I pluckt up a good Spirit, set my foot in the Stirrup, rode him with a Bit and a Snaffle, till I quite tired; and cur'd

him of his Resty, Skittish Humour: inso∣much that he has confest, there is no good to be done with me by foul means: nay, if he had kill'd me, I was resolv'd never to Truckle under him; and now I can say, and do what I Please, without the least contradiction; for I will have the last word, right or wrong; so that now he crosses the Cudgels to me, and submits: nay, I will assure you Gentlewomen, there's no man living, how perverse soever, but his Wife may bring him to be Complai∣sant, if she take right measures, and ma∣nage him with Discretion; therefore, pray Neighbour, when your Husband comes Home, ring him such a Peal as may make his Ears glow, and his Heart ake, or you'll never get the better on him as long as you have a day to live. Thus these Gossiping Baggages, having cloy'd 'emselves with good Wine, and plentiful Chear, abuse the poor Man for his Pains, and by their ad∣vice set the Husband and Wife at vari∣ance, the Curse of parting Man and Wife light on them for their pains. Well be∣ing thus gorged with Edibles and Pota∣bles, away they go, and leave the Woman to play her part according to their goodly Instructions. At length Home the Husband returns, having undergone the Drudge∣ry

of the Day with Care and Pains, and no sooner enters his own Doors, but enquires how his Wife does; the Nurse, like an Instructed Dissembling Slut, makes answer, that she is in a very weak condition, and this bout had like to have cost her Life; I have tended several in my time, but your Wife is the weakest Woman I ever look'd to in all my Life; thus they Teaze the foolish Man, who cannot rest till he hath seen his Wife; into the Chamber he goes, and the first Salutation is, how is't my Dear? Truly Love, very sick and weak; I am very sorry for it; and fear you fast too much: I cannot eat, my Appetite is Pall'd and gone: Well, I will order you some Gelly-broths and Caudles to com∣fort you; which he does accordingly, and sends 'em to her: Thus tir'd with running about all day long, he calls for some Re∣freshment, which is brought him, being only the Reversions of the Servants, which he is content with, whilst his Wife is cherish'd with costly and comfortable Draughts, he only swells his empty Maw, with Flatulent and Sower Sixes, and to Bed he packs up with his Head full of care and sleep; in the Morning up he gets by Break of Day, visits his Wife, and asks her how she rested; alas! (saith she) I

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have not so much as closed my eyes, or had one wink of sleep all this Night, tho she rested as well and soundly as if she had taken a Dose of Opium. My Heart, saith he, the Gossips will be here to day, you must make much of them, and should think of rising to entertain them; for you have kept your Bed above a Fortnight; Love we must be as saving as we can, Charges are great, and I have much ado to keep both ends together. Think of Rising! (says the Wife) a Curse on the Hour I was born! O, that I had died in Labour, and then there had been an end of me! Is it come to this indeed; must I rise alrea∣dy, and am not able to stand upon my Leggs? Do you long to see me drudging about the House before I am able to creep? You are a very kind Man, a most loving Husband indeed; I find now you wish me dead, so do I too. Well! well! I am content to rise to Morrow, come on't what will; I do very well foresee what I must undergo for the time to come; what would you do, if I had ten or twelve Chil∣dren, which God forbid, and if it be his will, I hope this is the last? but Gods will be done. As for Gossips coming to see me, I had rather they would stay at Home, and so they would if they knew how

little their Visits please me; nor would you your self (if you had any respect for me) promote their coming, when here were Twenty Discreet Women at least, who came to see me with a great deal of Kindness and Respect, and the Chear you provided for them, I would be ashamed to set before their Servants; this is truth, Sir, I saw it with my own eyes, over∣whelm'd with Tears, to hear that they should in a slighting, scoffing way take notice of it. Well, My Dear, you are soon moved I find to Passion, tho I give you no occasion; but satisfie your self, that hence∣forth, I shall be content that you please your self, and rise when you think it con∣venient. Do what you please, Sir, only I beg of you to talk to me no longer; for I am very full of Pain, and would de∣sire you to send to our Neighbours not to come because I am so much indisposed; Love, says he, they shall come, and be well treated too; for Gods sake let me alone, and do what you will. Then one of the Nurses attaques him with her de∣ceitful Tongue, pray Sir, do not force my Mistress to speak, it is very dangerous; for she is a very weak Woman, and if the Wind gets into her Head, it will do her and irreparable Injury (O brave Doctresses!)

then she draws the Curtains, and the Wife and the Husband are not yet Reconcil'd; however she expects the Gossips, who will act their parts so effectually, and give him such Flouts and Jeers, which will so tame him, that he may be easily led any where by the Nose for ever after. Howe∣ver away he goes and makes Provision for them in a more plentiful manner, by rea∣son of the Reproof he received from his Wife. The Gentlewomen at the time ap∣pointed appear, he welcomes them all, and conducts them to his Wife's Chamber; where they and the sick Woman Eat and Drink heartily, to a more than becoming Festivity, and Flirt and Joke with the Master of the House, till they have quite dispirited him, and made him a meer Mamma Mouchey; so that now he is con∣tent to do any thing for a quiet Life, dan∣dle the Brat in his Arms, dry the pist Clouts on his Horns, for fear the Nurse curse him, or else his Wife (having got the better end of the Staff) tell him plain∣ly, he shall never more enter her Premises. This comfortable Life he must lead; his Wife must be maintained at a high rate, and have her Will in all things; he must live Meanly and Penuriously, having his will in nothing; and thus he is caught in

the Net, where he struggles to no purpose, for there he must Live, in spight of Fate, Despicably, and die Wretchedly.

The Fourth COMFORT. The decay'd Gentleman, the Virago and her Topping Daughters.

WHen a Man hath been so Injurious to himself as to abandon a single Life, and run headlong upon Marriage, without any Reason or Sense; and having ••ved in the state of Matrimony for the pace of ten or twenty years, hath his Ta∣••e surrounded with Children, and the ••ack Ox hath trod upon his Foot, all that ••e can do, is only to keep the Wolf from ••e door, Charges daily increasing; and ••mong them three or four Daughters Mar∣••ageable, but not as yet disposed of, whose •…•…od Qualities (I mean Pride and Inso∣••nce) are too Notorious to the World, ••d the Father hath little, or no Portion 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bestow upon them; he, poor Gentle∣••an, must be in a kind of Troublesome ••ndition; for his Daughters must be ••aintain'd gentilely at home, and well ••tired when they go abroad a la Mode, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 these three Reasons:

First, That they may be the sooner put off, and by their Mincing Gate, and Gay Garb, bait some Spark or other into the Net of Marriage.

Secondly, if their Father be Hide-bound, and will not do it, he shall have his Hands and his Heart full, and they will do little or nothing for him, presuming upon their Mother, who countenanceth them in so doing, like a dutiful Wife.

Thirdly, the young Women in the Neighbourhood are maintained finely, and well habited, and so must they too, and why not, as well as other mens Children, of the same Rank and Quality?

Thus is the Man wearied out of hi•• Life, if he drudge not in the World to support their Pride and Vanity, tho pro∣bably to their utter Ruine: sometimes he beats the hoof twenty or thirty Miles a∣bout business, or, if he be Master of an•• Horse, rides at other times 100, to attend the Parliament, or Courts in Term-time about a Law-suit, which hath been de∣pending from his Child-hood, so that h•• is forced, to save Charges, to go ver•• meanly accoutred, having a pair of Boo•• Nine or Ten Years old, and so often vamp'•• and mended, that, like Drake's Ship, the•• have not one piece of their first Materials

his Spurs were made in Harry 8th's time, ••nd one of them wants the great gingling Rowel: his cloaths so mean and aged, ••hat they will scarce hang together by the ••ssistance of Patching, so as to cover his Nakedness, or keep his body from the in∣••ury of the Weather: The Sword he years is a Hacking Morglay, which some ••f his Ancestors took at the Siege of Troy: His Beast carries behind him an old Knap∣••ick, that his Fore-fathers used at the Siege ••f Bouloigne; the Livery he gives is well ••nown, for the Antiquity thereof, both in City and Country, the Coat being worn 〈◊〉〈◊〉 short that it scarce reaches the Pocket∣••oles, and in good faith,'tis like to be long ••nough, e're it be longer: in short, thus he ••ves sparingly abroad, to balance the great ••xpences at Home, whither he returns, ••ith a heavy Heart, and a light purse, the ••awyers, Attorneys, Sollicitors and Bai∣••ffs having sufficiently purg'd his Bags, •…•…d sent him away with a Flea in his Ear. ••eing arrived at his own appartment, be∣•…•…ld now his comfortable Reception, his ••nd welcome by his Wife! who as soon 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she espies him, instead of Embracing, ••eats him with a sower Countenance, •…•…ds fault with some miscarriage in the ••use, stamps and storms like a Bethlemite,

the Servants being all at her Beck, dare not give any Respect or Attendance: nay, the good-natur'd Elf, dares not open his mouth for any thing, till the Storm is o∣ver, bears all patiently, without the least noise, to prevent disturbance in his Fami∣ly, and sets him down some distance from the Fire, tho very cold, she and her Chil∣dren keeping all the heat from him; a•• length being moved with her Dogged and Currish Usage toward him, he may say, Methinks Mistress, you look very surly upon me, as if I had offended you, pray get me somewhat to refresh me, for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 am almost spent and tir'd off of my Legs being wet to the skin, having neither Ea•…•… nor Drunk this day, and yet you cannot so much as afford me a pleasant look: Yes saith she, I had need take care of you in∣deed, you have spun a fair Thread, I have lost more by my Hemp and Flax since your absence, than you will get these fiv•• years, by taking your Man along with you, so that I had no body to help me to Soak or Whiten it; besides, I have often wish'd you, since your departure, at th•• Devils Arse of Peak, that you did not sto•…•… the holes in the Hen-house, for the stink∣ing Pole-Cat hath eaten three of my be•…•… Laying Hens, whose loss is not so incons∣derable

as you imagine, and if you steer his Course, you will be certainly one of ••he poorest Men in your Family: Pray, ••ith he, Mistress, don't you give me such Language, God be praised, I am content with what I have, and shall have more if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be his will, besides, there are still some ••haritable, good People in my Family: Good, for what, says she, for nothing? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know but few of them, if any, worth ••he mentioning: Ay, saith the Husband, I •…•…y good People: And what good do ••hey do you? what good? as much good ••s yours: say you so, sweet Sir, but I'll ••e bold to tell you to your Teeth, and spit ••n the face of those that shall dare to op∣••ose it, that yours had been a poor stock, had it not been for the frequent Supplies of ••ny Friends and Relations, and if they should hear you say half so much to me, ••hey would tell you your own, in good Faith, would they. Well! prethee sweet heart (saith he) be not so High, let us ••eave off this Discourse: and so he is for∣••ed to acquiesce, for fear his Friends should be acquainted therewith. But the Fray is not yet over, for it happens that one of the little Children falls a crying, and as it falls out, 'tis the Father's Darling, whom ••he whips severely, more to spite him, than

any thing else; prethee Woman, sait•• he, why are you so sharp with the Child in the Devil's name, saith she, what d•• you concern your self, you are not at th•• trouble of bringing them up, or lookin•• after them? that is my Drudgery Nigh•• and day, as long as I am able to stan•• upon my legs; shame on you, must I b•• thus controul'd, that I must not correct my own Child? if I take him up agen, I'll fle•• him, and do you seek your remedy. The says the Nurse, indeed Sir, you are not a home to see it, nor do you know what ••world•• heavy hand my Lady has in bringing them up: by my faith (saith the Cham∣bermaid) it is a stark shame, that whe•• you come home, instead of our rejoycing at your Company, you create nothing bu•• Disturbance and Noise among us; Noise saith the Lady, go you Fool, this is no thing in comparison of what I have taken at his hands, and must do so still, as long as it pleaseth my good God. Thus the whole Family, by the instigation of the Mistress, is up in Arms against their Ma∣ster, who creeps to Bed Supperless and Comfortless, the Children in the Night bawling about his ears, that he can take no rest, which is done on purpose to disturb him; thus he spends his days in

Care, his Nights in Torment; and so we ••ave him to enjoy the Fruits of his Folly.

The Fifth COMFORT. The Doting Cornuto, and Young Brisk Girl.

LOve or Lust, call it what you please, may be counted (if at all) pardona∣••le in Young; but in Old Men not to be ••ndur'd; when they have exhausted their ••umidum radicale, their Bodies being in∣••aded by Rheum, and those many Infir∣••ities that attend Old Age. This is the Case at present of our Grave Senior who 〈◊〉〈◊〉 married to a Young Brisk Girl of a Nobler extract than himself; but certain∣••y there is reason in this, for she might ••ave been Matcht to a far greater advan∣••age, but her Friends were forced to dis∣••ose of her to any one (God wot) be∣••ng but of a crackt Reputation, and hav∣••ng had a shrewd Mischance, the effect of ••er Youthful Wantonness; and tho this ••ath been frequently discours'd of about ••he Town, yet the doting Cornuto, is too Credulous to believe any such Rampant Stories, but stands highly in her Vindica∣tion. Thus he, being well stricken in

years, abandons all sorts of Pleasures, and only studies to turn the Penny to advan∣tage, that he may maintain her according to her port, Gentilely: but his Lady be∣ing of a Generous Temper, and in the Vigour of her Youth, is no way incline∣able to that close-fisted humour of her A∣varicious Bedfellow, but resolved to pas•• her time jovially, and swim in Deligh•• and Pleasure. To this purpose her firs•• Intrigue is to get a Gallant, which is soo•• done by the opportunities She has at Treat•• and Meetings, whither She daily rambles, and an Assignation being made, they ca∣ress and embrace one another without con∣troul or Suspicion; for her Honour must be still preserved untainted; and having diverted themselves with all the Amorous Sports and Love-Toys, that Wantonness ever could invent, the next Diversion is to Droll at her Aged Husband, who is buffooned on all sides by all Persons, but more particularly and bitterly by her La∣diship. Well! home she returns, big with expectation of her Gallants appointed Vi∣sit the next Morning, and to Bed with her Husband She goes, with as much love as the Devil has for Holy Water; and by that time his frozen Limbs are somewhat thaw'd with natural heat, the Cuckoldly

Goat must be up and at her; but she pre∣tends She is very ill, drowsie and incli∣nable to sleep; therefore pray (saith She) let me alone, you will infinitely oblige me, if you will forbear till Morning, and then I shall be fit for your service; at which the Old Oaf turns for fear of displeasing her; whose head runs upon nothing but Meeting with her Friend, and contrives withal, (consulting with her Pillow) how to put off the Old Man, that he shall not touch her, when Morning comes; which she cunningly effects, as followeth; ••ither she rises very early, leaves the old Gentleman fast (for Age is Childish, and ••onsequently sleepy for the most part) and ••s satisfied or tired with her Gallant, be∣••ore Father Graybeard awakes: and then ••ummageth about the House, playing the Good Housewife seemingly: or otherwise, ••he does not rise at all; but before day ap∣••ears, she sighs and groans o•• purpose, that ••he good Gentleman may hear her, who ••resently asks her how she is: indeed love, ••ith she, I have such a pain in my side, ••ccompanied with the Gripes, that I can ••ake no rest, I think it is my old Distem∣••er: prethee, sweet heart, turn to me: ••pon my faith, my Dear, I am all in a sweat, ••nd dare not for fear of catching cold,

which may cost me my life, being of a weak Constitution: then he covers her close up, bids her be careful of her self, and he will take care of her Houshold Affairs: up he gets without Fire or Candle, yet procures her a fire against her rising: thus she takes her ease, and laughs in her sleeve at the Old Man's Folly; when he understands she is up, he comes to see her very lovingly, and begins to be Amorous, but she having a mind to disappoint him, says, would it were God's Will that you would never meddle with me, till I did ask you: and would you not then, says he? no, upon my Conscience, Love, I think not, and had I known but as much before, I would ne∣ver have Married: Why then did you Marry, saith he? indeed Love, I know not I was but a Young Girl, and did it in obe∣dience to the Commands of my Parents what is the meaning on't, sweet heart, you are always, in this humour? I do not know, but indeed, love, were it not to please you, I would never be troubled with due Benevolence, as you call it: thus she wheedles the superannuated Fop into a strange conceit of her Chastity: so tha•• this perswasion increaseth the Flome of hi•• Affection, which he thinks can never b•• extinguished. But now observe the damn'••

subtilty of a wily Woman, who never wants one contrivance or other to chouse any one she hath a mind to please. If she has a mind to Cajole him out of Cloaths, Rings, Jewels, Moneys, or any thing that she fancies, the Scene is quite alter'd; then, when they are both warm in Bed, how the dissembling Gipsie Kisses, Hugs and Squee∣••es him in her Arms, till his old bones ••attle in his skin, and helps his aged Hea∣viness with her youthful Activity, so that ••he old Man is in a kind of Extasie, to find ••er so prodigal of her Favour and Kind∣••ess; prethee my Dear! (saith she) have a ••reat care of your self, for my sake, as well ••s your own; for my life is bound up ••ith yours, and one grave must contain ••s both: Would to God I had no other ••aradise on this side Heaven, but to be In∣••mbed in your Arms, this I speak cordi∣••ly, God is my Witness; and if any Man ••d ever touch my Lips, but your self, and ••y Cousin, (and you allow of that by ••mmanding me to do it,) then let my ••unishment be never to receive Kiss or ••mbrace from you more, and that I am ••e would soon break my poor Heart; •• I am confident there is not a sweeter ••atured Man in the Universe, than you ••c. No, Love, saith he, except the Gentle∣man

that Courted you before me: Pish Pish, says, she, upon my Honour, I was smitten with you the first time I saw you, tho at a distance, I may very safely swear it was Love at first sight; I think it was a Match made in Heaven; for my Father would have Married me to that Gentleman, but I would never consent to it; I can give no reason for it, but it was Decreed it should be so. Thus she procures what she designed, tho at never so dear a rate, and this kind of Caressing soon opens the Miser's Coffers, who knows her temper so well, that she will never give over till she has her will, whatsoever it costs. Now she begins, being furnished, to think o•• other things; her Gallant, that she for∣merly maintained, must like her overwor•• Apparel, be laid aside, and a new, rich on•• embraced; but she is too crafty to be to forward, and keeps him at a bay for •• time, refuseth his Presents and Visits, ti•• her Plots are brought to Maturity: Th•• young Gentleman is Enamoured, an•• wants an opportunity to meet with he Maid, which he soon obtains: Sweet-hear•• quoth he, I must have a little Talk wit•• you; that you may, Sir, if you please: yo•• know (saith he) the extream passion th•• I have for your Lady, do you think the••

is any possibility of obtaining my desires? Did she ever mention me since the last in∣terview? In truth, Sir, she never opens her Lips, but to your commendation, and I am satisfied she wishes you well: Well, Child! I do wholly confide in you, do but have me so much in your thoughts, as now and then to speak a good word for me, and you shall be no loser by it; I will bestow a new Gown upon you, and here are five Guineys to buy you Gloves: Excuse me, Sir, saith she, I shall not take them; but indeed, Sweet-Heart, you shall, and so at length, with some little per∣swasion, like a right Maid, she cryes Nay, and takes it: Away she hastens to her Lady, and acquaints her, that she had met with her Gallant: well, and what says he? Why, faith, Madam, I think he is a little Lunatick upon your account, for he neither knows what he does or says: But how dost thou like him, Girl? good Faith, Madam, I look upon him to be the most Comely, Complete Gentleman that ever I set my eye on in my Life, and I am of Opinion, that he will be a very Fond and Faithful Lover: nay, he is a Gentleman every Inch of him, hath a very good E∣state, and is able to Gratifie your Kind∣nesses, by which Means you may embrace

a Happy and Comfortable Piece of Gallan∣try, as long as you have the enjoyment of each others Society. In troth I am at a loss, almost at my Wits end, I can get nothing out of my Husband, but what is absolutely necessary: Pray, Madam, Con∣sider of it, for I promised to return him an answer to morrow: But how, Girl, shall we curry this Horse? how shall we ma∣nage this Affair? As for that, Madam let me alone, I beseech you, I shall meet him to Morrow-morning, and then I'll tell him plainly, that you would not so much as lend the least Ear to my Discourse, or con∣sent to any thing requested (do what I could) being so tender of your Honour and Reputation, and I am sure I can Act a Dissembling Part pretty well. In the Morning, after she had made him attend two hours at least, they meet together ac∣cording to Appointment. How now Sweet Heart, says the Gallant, how is it with your Lady? She is very Thoughtful and Pensive, full of Grief and Sorrow for the ill Usage of her Husband, who is so wick∣ed a Man to her, that it is not to be be∣lieved what the Poor Gentlewoman un∣dergoes: I am sorry for't (quoth he) with all my Heart; but what did your Lady say to you? upon my Faith, Sir, I

spake to her, for which I have gained a great deal of ill Will; she would not so much as hear me, nor consent to any thing propos'd, so highly doth she prize her Re∣putation, and if she had a mind to be kind to her Neighbours, and love them as her self, she is under an Italian slavery, being so kept in and Watcht by the old Lump of Jealousie her Husband. I do not re∣member, that she ever exchanged a word with any Man in Discourse, since I have waited upon her, and I have been her Ser∣vant these four years and upwards, but on∣ly with your self the other day, whom she remembers still, and for ought I know, to be plain with you, would sooner love you, than any other in the World. Dear Child, (saith he) bring but that about, and I'll be your Eternal Friend. Truly Sir (saith she) I have done already all that lies in my power as to that, and dare not attempt a∣ny further, but in any thing else feaseable, Command me, and I'm your Servant. Prethee, advise me what to do in this Case: Why, your best way will be to make an Address to her your self, and now is the most Critical time in the World; for she and her Husband are at Variance, and you will find her at Church, where you may make your Amours to her, Caress

her, and present her, tho I'm confident she'll refuse all; but no matter for that, she'll have a great esteem for you, not∣withstanding her Denial, and will set a higheou value upon your Generosity and Worth than you can possibly imagine, do as I counsel you, and so all happiness at∣tend you. (Sanctified Advice indeed in so Sanctified a Place, to make the Church a Brothel-House, and Religion a Pander to fordid Lust!) When you have acted your part, as I have told you, (saith this She-Emissary of the Devil) give me what you intend her as a Present, and I will so or∣der the matter, that she shall accept of it, or do my utmost endeavour, tho I lose my labour. You say very well, my Dear Child! and so they part. Away runs this Gigling Baggage, and smiling at her Lady; upon my Soul, Madam, there are a great many Persons in the World, who would wish for your Happiness; for he is resolv'd to Accost you, and discover his whole mind; now summon all your discretion together, let this be your dernier effort, as the Frenchman terms it; carry your self strangely to him, and hold him in sus∣pense for a time; for you know, 'tis Ex∣pectation makes a Blessing dear; but be sure you be not so severe in your deport∣ment

as to Dash the Young Gentleman quite out of Countenance. Thus full freigh∣ted with hopes, she hastens to Church, sti∣mulated by Lechery, rather than Devoti∣on; where arrived, her Gallant attacques her, but she will consent to nothing, nor accept of his Presents; however she en∣tertains him so favourably, that he may plainly discover her Affection to be more than ordinary: so they take leave with a light heart, and the Lady and her wai∣ting Gentlewoman Consult how to ma∣nage the Business cleanlily without suspi∣cion: I am satisfied, Madam, saith her Maid, that he has a longing desire to be wrapt up in your Embraces, and I will tell him my Master is gone into the Country for some time, and bring him the back∣way to your Chamber, in the deepest si∣lence of the Night, (the securest time for such Secresies) yet so that you shall seem to be altogether ignorant of my Design, and Counterfeit a real Passion for so strange and unworthy a surprisal, and withal ac∣quaint him that you will cry out, and call upon me, and what he presents you with by my hands, do you obstinately refuse at first; Chide me for it before his face, press me to return it, but yet I hope you will have the grace at last to accept it, for

in truth there is no dealing with Men, but by out-doing them in Female-Craft, the only weapons we have to defend our selves against that Sex. Now this cunning Wench finds out the Gallant, who asks her what News? In short Sir (saith she) not to Trifle away time, which is very precious, if I could prevail with her to accept the present you intend her, the Business would be done effectually, and to your satisfacti∣on; the Gallant being ravished with her Discourse, immediately puts fifty Guineys into her Hand, as a present of his Affecti∣on to her Lady. Well Sir (saith she) I will undertake one thing more, for I know my Lady has a kindness for you; therefore come you the back way, in the dead time of the Night, now my Master is absent, and I will convey you to her Chamber, she being Childish and consequently Slee∣py, you will have the better opportunity to uncloath your self, and to Bed to her without Delay, or Ceremony, and in all probability the business will be done; for when you both are naked in one Bed, and in the dark too, there is no Dispute of prevailing: come, come Sir! Women are Flesh and Blood, as well as Men, and sub∣ject to Failings as well as they: I que∣stion not but you know the old Proverb,

Faint Heart ne'er won Fair Lady, there∣fore be Brisk and Active, and you need not despair of obtaining your desire, I'll pawn my Reputation for it. The Lady is informed of all Passages between them, the Presents are accepted, and the Cham∣ber-maid finds the Lover at the Place and Time appointed. Conveys him to her La∣dies Chamber, and so leaves him: Now you may imagine that his Desires being winged with Love, he was not long dis∣robing himself, but steals into Bed, and embraces her in his Arms, at which she seems to startle out of a feigned slumber, and says, what, my Dear, is it you? No, Madam, it is I, says the Gallant? how you? saith she, who are you? this is not to be endured; whereupon she struggles to rise, calls upon her Gentlewoman, twice or thrice, but alas! to no purpose: and great pity 'tis, that in such a time of Necessity the Maid would give her no an∣swer: Ah! (saith she) I'm betray'd, and struggles for it, till her breath fail'd her, so that she was at his mercy, who treated her very kindly, she enjoying such gentle usage as she expected, and they both de∣sign'd; yet, to speak the truth, Men are to blame for these rude Assaults: and what could a poor, weak Woman do alone, who

durst not cry out as loud as she would, for fear of losing her reputation? but to make the best of a bad Market, here's their com∣fort still, the Curtains cannot, and the Maid dares not tell any Tales. Thus they made the best improvement of their time, and when they had sufficiently solaced 'emselves parted amicably, till they should have an opportunity to re-enjoy their delights, the next Assignation. But at length by some un∣lucky accident or other, old Erra Pater, the Husband, comes to be certainly informed of the whole matter, and indeed more than he car'd to hear, which puts him into a Raving Jealous Fit of Melancholy, he stamps and stares like one distracted; but she being now fleshed with Lust, and sea∣soned with impudence, gives him as good as he brings, upbraids him with his beg∣gerly Relations, laughs him to scorn, and this is the only Mirth he is like to enjoy with a continuando, till at last dried up with grief, and shrivel'd with Age, he brings his Gray hairs with sorrow to the Grave.

The Sixth COMFORT. Jack-hold-my-staff, and Lady Pouting.

THE next Married Couple we meet with enjoy the Comforts of Matri∣mony, as much as any of the five preceed∣ing: and here it is the fortune of a Man, to be Wedded to a Woman of so cross and domineering a Temper, that she will wear the Breeches and the Cap too, so that the poor Fop at Home is like John Hold-my-staff, she must Rule, Govern, Insult, Brawl, understand all concerns at home and abroad, answer all businesses, manage all Affairs, tho she be never so well maintained, and want for nothing, yet he must be in the Family like a meer Cypher, and her whole delight and design is to Plague and Torment him. And thus she begins; when they have past a∣way the Night very sportingly, and en∣joy'd the delights of the Marriage-Bed, as all good People ought to do, her Husband leaves her in a very good humour, to dress and trim her self up, he, in the mean time, while she is Tricking, takes care of the Domestick Affairs, and when Dinner is

ready, sends for his Wife to accompany him; but word is brought she will not Dine to day, go agen (saith he) and bid her come, the Maid does so, and tells her Mistress, my Master desires you to come, go and tell him once more, that I will not come: the Good man is not satisfied with this answer, but sends a third time, but to no purpose; so that at length he goes him∣self, and asks her why she will not come to Dinner? not a word will she give him; what ail'st thou, my Dear? not a Syllable will she return, but Pout and Frown, he inquires of the Family what is the reason, but cannot receive any satisfaction; when, as the truth is, she ailes nothing, but only resolves to be Dogged, and perhaps will not come to Dinner, do what he can; at other times, possibly he may prevail with her, when he hath begged so long till the meat is spoiled at the Fire, or cooled on the Ta∣ble, and then he leads her to Dinner, but she has no stomach, not one Morsel will go down, and he, like a Fop, to comply with her froward humour, will fast like∣wise, but the more fool he, for the more kindness he shews her, the more she slights him; and, in my Opinion, she is to be commended, for what need any Woman Court his favour, that doats upon her al∣ready?

If he should despise and contemn her, then she had reason to scrue her self into his affection, if possible. Another trick she has to vex him, and that is this, when he is abroad, he sometimes acciden∣tally meets with some of his intimate ac∣quaintance, to whom he is infinitely obli∣ged, and has a design to Treat them at his own House, which is more Gentile, and less chargeable than at the Tavern; away he sends his Servant to her, who when he comes, says, Mistress, my Master will be here in the Evening with three or four Friends, Persons of good Repute, and de∣sires you would provide every thing ne∣cessary for their reception. Upon my faith (saith she) not I, I will have nothing to do with his Treats, why did he not come himself? I don't know that, Mistress, but this he commanded me to tell you: Go, go, you are a very Rogue, and meddle with that, that does not concern you. Well, to shew her readiness and obedience, she first sends all the Servants abroad, except a well-instructed Maid or two, brought up to her own hand, that have the length of her foot exactly, and then she whips into her Chamber, and locks her self up. When her Husband comes home, he asks if eve∣ry thing be ready, according to his order;

truly Sir, saith the Maid, my Mistress is ve∣ry ill, and there is no body at home to do any thing; this puts our Master (if he may be so called without offence) into a great Chafe, but however leads his Friends into the Parlour, where all things are out of or∣der, and therefore goes to his Wife, why have you served me so? saith he. Sir, you do command so many things at once, that I do not know which to turn my self to first. Fy! Fy! saith he, you have done me the greatest diskindness imaginable; for these are the only Persons in the World, that I am obliged to. And how can I help it? (says she) what would you have me to do? You shew your Wisdom in it in∣deed; well, do what you please; I'm sure it don't please me. But heark you, Gentle∣woman, why did you send the Servants out of the way? God bless me, what a Question is that from a wise Man as you are? Did I know, or could I divine, think you, that you had any occasion for them? When the mischievous Wretch sent them out of the way, on purpose to disappoint and Fret him. Away he goes agen to his Friends in a fury, but she values it not, knowing the Storm will soon blow over. To be short, he bustles about, and sets all things in as good order as he can. Then

he sends for some of the Table-Linnen, and word is brought there's none to be had. He goes to his Wife, and tells her what a shame and disgrace it will be, both for him and her, not to have fine Linnen, she tells him there is Linnen out already, good enough for them; for I'm sure my Friends and Relations are content with it, when they bestow a Visit on us, and I'm sure they are as good as the best of them, but however to satisfie you, all the best Linnen is in the Wash, except what is under Lock and Key in the Trunk, and the Keys were lost this Morning; but you had best go ask the Chamber-Maid, and bid her seek them; for I know not what is become of them, I have so many things running in my head, that I do not know sometimes what I do, I am in such distra∣ction and confusion. Then the Fop bites the Lip, scratches his empty Nodle, and raps out a great Oath, being enraged (and cause enough too) that he will quickly make the Locks flie, if they do not find the Keys, and that speedily too. Say you so, good Sir, quoth she, I would I could see that once, you would shew a great deal of discretion in such an action, I con∣fess; but his heat being somewhat allay'd, he considers she is in the right, and so they

fall to what is before them; the best Wine, Meat and every thing, being at her dispo∣sal, but they are like to go without it, for all her Huffing Husband. Nay, they must not have clean Sheets, but lie in Foul Lin∣nen. Well! in the Morning they take their leaves, and divert themselves upon the Road with the Poor, over-ridden Fools affliction, resolving never more to set foot within his doors. When they are gone, he attacques his Wife (thinking to bestow a little moderate reproof upon her) saying, indeed, my Dear, you are a very strange Woman, and I do not at all un∣derstand your froward humour: Lord bless me, saith she, what ado you keep about me? I am weary of my Life, would I were as deep in the ground as I am high; I am up early, and down late, feeding your Poultry, looking after your Dome∣stick Affairs, Spinning, Carding, and what not, never Idle, I am sure the Care I take, will shorten my days; and yet all this does not deserve (the more's my grief) so much as one good word from you, I scrape at home, and am as sparing as can be, and you spend all abroad, yet you are not content. Thus they live a discon∣tented, wretched Life, old Age creeps up∣on him, Grief seizeth him; he grows a

Sot, and she makes a Beast of him; he is intangled in the Net, and if he makes himself away, or comes to some ill End, he may thank himself for it, and verifies the old Proverb, Marriage and Hanging go by Destiny, and there is an end of him.

The Seventh COMFORT. The easie Fool, and Madam Wheedle.

THE Grave Italians have a Proverb, that Honest Men Marry, but Wise Men don't, and that is the Reason we have so many Fops in the World, and so few discreet Persons. Our next Mar∣ried Couple that we shall represent to you, we will suppose to be well Matcht, and they enjoy themselves for some time; but the clearest Sun may be often overcast with Clouds, and then according to the Lyrick Poet,

Desinit in Piscem Mulier formosa supernè.

A Fair Morning may end in a Lowring Evening. In the heat and vigour of Youth, their days may be somewhat Pleasant;

but the Woman decays not so soon as the Man, let their condition be what it will, for he is often harassed and broken with Carking Care, whilst she grows plump with Delight and Pleasure: And as for her Pain and Peril of Child-bearing, I do no more wonder at it, than at the laying of a great Egg, by a Hen, or a Goose, the or∣dinary effect of Nature, no more, notwith∣standing all their Tittle Tattle, the Hen being always the fatter for laying, whilst the Cock scrapes and provides for her, as the honest Married Man for his Wife. And when the poor Man begins to de∣cline, grow weak and imbecile, the good Wife continuing still very Blithe and Gamesome, then the former Delights, Amorous Tricks, Kind Expressions, Wan∣ton Looks and Glances, are turned into downright Scolding, and endless Conten∣tion. Well! at length she begins to dis∣cover her good Temper, she looks sow∣erly upon him with a Cloudy Counte∣nance, slights and neglects him as in∣sufficient, and is much concern'd at the Disappointment of his Impetuous Nerve, his Heat and Activity being lost, or at least abated. Then she grows of Opini∣on, that God and the Laws did cer∣tainly ordain a Woman more than one

Man as well in England as in Turkey, and other well Regulated Countries, and saith she will run the Risque, and try how other Men are Weapon'd and Qualified for the Sport, and now the Game begins, she grows worse and worse to him, leads him a sad Life, that the foolish Man had better have chosen a Halter than a Wife, because the former might have prov'd the end, whereas the latter is but the beginning of his Misery: For now through her loose course of Life, the Candle burns at both ends, they live at Rack and Manger (as the old saying is) and all tends to Ruine and Destruction, both of Soul and Body. Thus she Consumes with her unlawful Lust, what he has Raked together by his lawful Care and Labour: Then he capitu∣lates with himself, and says, 'tis strange to me that my Estate should dwindle away at this rate, I am sure, I have ever had a Care of the Main Chance, and paid every one their own, lived sparingly, cloathed my self meanly, and all to no purpose; for I can scarce keep the Wolf from the door. At length he grows Jea∣lous of his Wife, and imputes all his Misfortune to her Miscarriage; but upon Examination of the whole, she wheadles him so cunningly by her Woman-craft,

that he is satisfied those Reports of her Immodesty are false and malicious: She claps her hands upon his Head and wishes the Devil had all that is under her Hands, if ever any Man kist her but himself: and so the Fool is reconciled to his good Wife: Nay she proceeds farther; As for that Vil∣lain that misinformed you, since it must out, I'll tell you the whole truth of the Story; this Base, Perfidious Varlet hath been these two years attempting my Cha∣stity, but I have hitherto, (I thank my God for it) kept my self Pure, Undefiled, and repulsed him to his shame, if he has any in him, notwithstanding all his large Proffers and specious Pretences. Can it enter into your thoughts, Sweet Heart! that I should ever defile your Bed, away with all such vain Imaginations! Can it be supposed, that I should leave so kind and comely a Man as you are, for the Embraces of another? I were worse than the Devil himself, if I should take such Hellish Courses; however I for∣give him that has so basely bespattered me; but I must beg this Favour of you, that you never suffer him to set foot again within these doors; for if you do I will shun him Cane pejus & angue, more than a curst Gur, or a poisonous Adder;

and I'll assure you, if I find you keep the least Correspondence with him for the future, I will pack up my Awls, be gone from you, and will never live with you while I have breath in my body: God for∣bid that you should ever live to see that day wherein I should defile your Bed; no no, my Dear, it is not come to that yet, and then she bursts outwith Tears, wring∣ing her hands, and bitterly exclaiming a∣gainst that Wretch with all imaginable Fe∣male Invectives. Well! all is well; he is Banished the House, and the Good man rails against him for a great Rogue, to a∣buse his good, Modest Wife in so high a Nature. Thus he grows fonder and fon∣der, becomes a meer Ass, is infatuated by his Wife, and transfigur'd into a Beast, without Sense or Reason. Thus she has got the Day, wears the Breeches (and those Women are Fools that do not if they can) has freer access to her Gallant, unsus∣pected, than formerly, and the Fop her Husband is deaf to all Accusations: at length through this Dotage he falls into extream Penury, and finds to his Gost, Sera est in fundo Parsimonia, 'Tis too late to be saving, when there is nothing to save; these are the Pleasures and Com∣forts of a Married Life; he is made the

Scorn and Scoff of the Neighbourhood; some perhaps may be so kind as to pity the Honest Man; Wise Men reject him, and slight his Company; his Wife smiles at his Folly, enjoys her stolen Amours undiscovered: grows at length as com∣mon as a Barber's Chair, no sooner one is out, but another's in; exposeth her Body to every Person, who is sufficiently Tool'd for her Salaciousness; and at last (as a just Reward of her, Debauche∣ry and Lasciviousness) gets the Foul Dis∣ease of some Fouler Rascal, gives it her good Husband, in Retaliation of all his fondness, so that they live in pain all the days of their lives, and at last end their days unpitied, loathsomely and wretchedly.

The Eighth COMFORT. Father Noddy and Mother Snapp.

OUR next Married Couple that we are to discourse of, are Persons well enough Matched, if they could be content with what they have: God hath blest them with five or six sweet Children Liv∣ing,

and the Wife is as big as she can Tumble with another. The time of her ••elivery, and his charges draws nigh, and •…•…l things must be made ready for the ••od Wives that are about her; at length ••fter some sharp Throws, they give her •…•…er for dead, the poor Man is almost ••t his wits end, when he first hears that ••ismal news, runs about like a Mad Man for help, falls on his knees, prays ••r her safe delivery, his Prayers are heard, ••nd she is brought to bed of a Lusty Boy. ••ow there is nothing but Carousing and ••ejoycing throughout the Family, the ••ap runs apace, but the Gossips Tongues, •…•…l'd with Liquor, faster, interlarded with ••nutty discourse, suitable to the present •…•…casion. The Spring of the Year is now ••ming on, and every one of any Quali∣•…•… is preparing for the Country to View ••atures Green Tapestry, and hear the ••arbling Nightingale Carol her sweet ••otes in the plesant serenity of the quiet ••vening, and among the rest, the Wife ••ust go to take the Country Air after her ••ing in, and 'tis but requisite for her ••ealths sake: but how to perswade him 〈◊〉〈◊〉 take this Journy, there's the business. ••ow she begins to set all Engines at work

to that purpose; first she comes home dis∣contented, and is very Snappish to he•• Husband; what's the matter? Love! saith he, what makes you so out of humour 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the matter quoth she, I think I have rea∣son enough, the Child is very much di∣stempered with a Violent Burning Feaver, insomuch, that the Nurse protests to me•• (tho it was a long time 'ere I could get i•• out of her) that the poor Babe hath no•• taken the Breast these four days. I am heartily troubled, and know not how t•• help my self; but that which afflicts me most is, that upon my conscience, I believe God Almighty punishes the Child for my sins, for I made a vow to go into the Country, and I shall never be at rest, till I have performed it. Why, sweet heart•• saith he, have a little Patience, the time is not yet elapsed, you need not be so hasty: I have a great deal of business to•• dispatch, and that of Concernment too now when that is over you shall go where you please. In troth, saith she, don't tell me of business, I must go, and I will go, there's no necessity for my stay, I'm sure I can do you no service; and as for the charges, which I know is all your grie•• and fear, I will pinch them out some way

or other, tho I abate it in House-keeping; This you do to perswade the world what a good Husband you are; but if the truth were known, you will be found to save at the Spigot, and let it run out at the Bung-hole. The poor Man being thus Schooled by his Wife, must provide for this Journey, or else all the Fat's in the Fire; there will be no quietness, if she does not go abroad. Well the time is come, and they must set forward. Hor∣ses are provided, and a new Riding Garb for the Wife, he himself waits upon her, and must be as Tractable as a Spa∣niel upon the Road; his Wife is always wanting one thing or other; the Stirrup is too short, or too long, the Pillion is not well fixt, her Scarf flies off; the Horse Trots too hard, and makes her sick, so that she must light and take a Walk, then she must be helpt up again, and this un∣necessary trouble hath the noddy brought upon himself, besides the distillations that she is troubled with every quarter of a Mile, she having the Diabetes, and cannot hold water long. Being arrived at the place intended; she is discomposed with her Journey, and her stomach grows so nice, that it Kecks at such Course food, as

Beef and Mutton, and she must have a Fowl to pick upon. Well away goes the contented Fool, and Trudges about the Town for some Dainty bit to please his Lady, cost it never so much; for you know, far sought, and dear bought is fit for such Cattle; and when he comes home, if his Marketting displeaseth her, then she as well as the rest of her Sex, falls fowl on the Good man, saying, in truth you are the strangest person that ever liv'd, not at all fit to Travel; not at all Complai∣sant, you know not how to oblige our Sex. The Patient Fop hears all and bears all, being accustomed to such kind of re-proof, as the Tinker's Dog is to carry the Budget. After they have solaced them∣selves at this pleasant rate, as long as she thinks convenient, home they return, find all thing out of order, the Horse dead in the Stable, the Servants Gadding abroad after their own Invention, all their Mony spent that he cannot buy any more, and therefore must foot it about his own occasions, and she will not set her hand to do the least chair in the House, till she hath had a Fortnights rest after her Tra∣velling; only go a Visiting, Chat with her Gossips, and complain of the unser∣viceableness

of her Husband throughout the whole Journey. The poor Man he settles to work, endeavours to set all things to rights, takes a great deal of pains; and if any thing is in fault, he's hit in the Teeth with it; but if all things be well and in order, that must be imputed to her good management. In fine, she is so taken with her Country-Journey, that she is re∣solved to be Travelling once a Year, what ever comes on't, and he shall be at the Charge of it. Thus his Expences increase with his Years, he is afflicted with the Wracking Gout, and (which is a worse Distemper) a Froward Woman, that makes the small Remainder of his days, comfortless; for she will Rule the Roast, must have her Will in all things, will be Mistress and Govern, whilst he stands only for a Cipher at Home, and at length thro Grief and Discontent, becomes a meer Skeleton, and Languisheth away to nothing.

The Ninth COMFORT. Old Age Insulted over.

WHen a Man hath once thrown him∣self into the Net, or rather Pri∣son of a Family, and taken a brisk Wife, then the Comforts of Marriage daily flow in upon him: This Wife you must under∣stand is a Haughty, Proud Spirited Wo∣man, and would fain Domineer over her Husband; but he being a Prudent Man, manages his Affairs with such Discretion, that she, to her great Grief finds, she shall never get the upper hand. Thus for a time he is Head of the Family, and Go∣verns his Wife and Children with Credit and reputation; he is happy in a nume∣rous Issue of both Sexes; hath Educated them all very well, and Match'd them to good Fortunes; but mark what follows, when all this is done, being full of years, the Infirmities of Old-age at last seise him, and he is Fettred to his Chamber, by some Tedious and Chronical Distemper, so that he is not able to move or stir out of his Chair. Now the Domestick War begins de novo; the Wife will do nothing but

what she pleaseth, tho she was formerly kept under Hatches; the poor man is now her Prisoner, and at her Mercy; the Wife grows Surly and Sawcy, the Children Ma∣sterless, the Servants Unruly; and if the Husband attempts to Correct them, she is ready to fly in his face for it. Seeing him∣self thus Abused by his Wife, Disobeyed by his Children, and slighted by his Ser∣vants, he takes it very much to heart: But that which Afflicts him most is the Extravagancy of his eldest Son and Heir, Bolstred up by his Mother, only to break the old Man's Heart, and make him end his Life Miserably. If he thinks of a Will, that he shall not be permitted to do, for fear he should bequeath somewhat to his Poor Relations, or be too Lavish in Cha∣ritable Legacies: Now the old Gentleman is Left in the Cold alone, unregarded, whilst she Gossips about in the Parish, and declares the Currish Usage of her Hus∣band; had I not been (saith she) a Wo∣man of a matchless Patience, I could ne∣ver have lived with him half this time: but this is not all; for when she comes home she throws it in his dish frequently, and tells him now upbraidingly, that God Rewards him for it. The Good Man is

resolved to Admonish her and her Chil∣dren fairly, to see whether that will work any Good upon her, and to that end calls them before him: My Dear! you are the only person that I ever Loved, and yet give me leave to tell you that I am not pleased with your Carriage in ma∣ny Particulars: You know I am Master of the House, and will be as long as I live (but, faith, Old Gentleman you are mista∣ken, quoth the good Wife softly and smi∣lingly,) tho I am not used like one at pre∣sent: You know farther how I have ever Cherished you, as the Beloved Wife of my Bosom, and kept you as tender as the Apple of my eye, but neither you nor my Children have behaved your selves as you ought to do. What would you have done? I trow, saith she, you are too well used, you do not know when you are well; there is nothing we can do to please you. Would you have us stand demurely before you with our fingers in our mouths? Not so neither, I do not deserve this Taunt∣ing Language at your hands. Then he turns to his eldest Son: Son, (saith he) I have made some Observations of your Behaviour, with which I am very much Dissatisfied. You are my Eldest Son and

Heir 'tis true; but I see you Lavish away my Estate Profusely, with Profligate and Debauch'd Company: I have been a good Father, have Improved your Estate, and shall leave you a Plentiful Revenue, if you be Obedient and Dutiful, but otherwise, I swear by all that is good and Sacred, you shall never enjoy my Estate. What would you have him to do? saith she, one shall have enough to do to please you: Do you want for any thing? What would you be at I wonder? I never saw the Peer of you, I vow to God; you are neither pleased full, nor fasting. Pray Woman hold you your Tongue, and do not uphold him against me, tho it hath been ever your way to do so. This done, the Mother and her Son lay their Heads together, and resolve to give out, that the Old Man is Craz'd, grown a Child again, and make the World believe he is Senseless: if any one comes to speak with him, and asks the Good Lady for the Good Man; she pre∣sently Answers, Alas, Poor Gentleman! he is fast enough in God Almighty's Dun∣geon; and how came that to pass, Ma∣dam? God knows, Sir, for I do not, he is grown a Dotard, I am sure I have no comfort or help of him, God help me,

and grant me Patience to undergoe my Afflictions. Truly, Madam, I am hearti∣ly sorry for it. Thus is the Old Gen∣tleman Concealed from the World, and Confined to his Chamber, so that he can∣not Redress or help himself, nor unde∣ceive the World of the wrong done him. This he must needs undergo with a great deal of Grief and inward Regret: but since he finds no other Remedy, he is re∣solved to bear it patiently. For my part, I look upon this to be as great a Torment as can be upon Earth, for a man to be well stricken in years, Diseased and Trou∣bled with a Painful Distemper, Sequestred from all Friends and Relations, debarred of all Company, but such as rather add to, than diminish his Sorrow. Thus he Lingers away in Grief, Pines with Pain, Languisheth with Sorrow, lives Wretch∣edly, but I hope dies Happily; tho my Prayers shall be, that Fortune would bring her to some shameful End, that occasion'd it, and so Farewel, thou worst of Women!

The Tenth COMFORT. The Fool Rewarded.

HE that is once decoy'd into the Net of Matrimony, must bear with his Misfortune as well as he can; for 'tis a hard thing for him to get out of the Nooz, when he is once fastned, as will appear by this ensuing Discourse. Our Married Man here, that is to taste of the Tenth Com∣fort of Marriage (much good do his heart with it) is but a Puny, Diminutive, Con∣sumptive Animal, neither gifted with Wea∣pons nor Activity to please a Wife; and she, after an Essay made of his Ability, com∣plains to her Mother, that she cannot love him, he is so Lean and Meager, that it is as good lying with a parcel of Carpen∣ter's Tools, as with him, his skin is so lanck, and his bones so sharp and extend∣ed, that when he toucheth her in Bed, he pricks her like so many Needles, tho not in the proper place, a life that no poor Woman can bear; she wants due Benevo∣lence, and requires more Milk than he can give her, and therefore is resolved to Lap elsewhere. Now the Solace of Matrimo∣ny

begins to appear, Tantalus-like, she i•• up to the Chin in Water, and can neithe•• drink, nor eat those Apples that ly b•…•…¦bing at her Mouth; a sad condition for •• Hungry and Thirsty Soul: Abroad sh•• roams, picks up the first Stallion tha•• comes to Hand, and enjoys him as ofte•• as she has opportunity. Stolen Waters ar•• sweet, they say, and it appears so by thi•• Gentlewoman; but the Mischief on't i•• that by ill conduct of Affairs, her Hus¦band discovers her Amorous Intriegue▪ spoils her Gaming, and corrects her se¦verely for her Impudence; insomuch▪ that she deserts him, and goes to he•• Friends, Complaining with feigned tear•• of his Harsh Usage to her, and shews th•• Marks of his severity to her Relations▪ who pity her, and curse him. This i•• an excellent Comfort of Matrimony. Thu•• Pleasure salutes him in the very Infancy of his Wedded Condition, and will un∣doubtedly continue to the end. Howeve•• the Fond Fop, being deprived of his Wife, bemoans her absence every night in his Widdow'd Sheets, and is at a great loss for a Bed-fellow: He cannot endure this Life long, and therefore the poor Cornuto must send for her again; finding him in

this Loving Pickle, Poor thing! the Bow∣els of her Affection wamble not after a Husband (having been all this while stew∣ed in the warm Embraces of her Gal∣lant) and procures her Mother to give out, that she hath been all this while un∣der her Tutelage; then having an Op∣portunity to meet with her Husband, Rat∣tles him soundly for his Baseness toward her Daughter, telling him, that her Poor Child was forced to run away from him, because she went in danger of her Life all the time she co-habited with him: I had rather, saith she, by half, that you would turn her Home to me, and part good Friends, than to abuse her so as you do; and withal take notice that your Behavi∣our to the Poor Girl is enough to make her do what she never thought of, and make your Headake in spite of your Teeth, take that from me, Sir, since you are as you are. Being thus Lectured by the Mo∣ther, he seems to be very sorrowful, and hath a Months mind to the Daughter; nothing will serve him, but he must have her again, and has her de bene esse, upon promise of Reformation. Overjoy'd with the repurchase of his Wife, he grows kind even to Wonder, hops about with her

from place to place, till his Money is all hop'd from him, and then returns home with an empty Pocket, but a heavy Heart, God knows. Or else, if this Wheedle does not take, a Divorce is endeavour'd on both sides to be procured, but for want of sufficient Cause of Separation, or by reason of a considerable Flaw in the Evi∣dence, the Judge condemns them to live according to their Marriage Vow, and im∣poses a smart Fine upon them for their Folly; so that the Case is worse and worse, they are both doom'd to a Loath∣ed Bed, and a Life which an Ideot hath sense enough to avoid, rather than be so tormented, and expose themselves Ludi∣crously to the Censure of the whole World. Now if it falls out, that there is sufficient Cause for a Divorce, their mi∣sery is not at all abated; for they must never Marry while they live; and if they are not so Continent, as to forbear Ve∣nereal Divertisements, they must e'en run the risque of a Swinging Clap, and the loss of Reputation; so that by this means they are caught, and faster in the Net than ever; and if they are of a Noble Family, Rich in Lands and Possessions, then their Names are lost for want of an

Heir, and they go out of the World with an ill stench, their Reputation being rot∣ten before their Dust, and their memory is more nauseous than their Bones in the Grave. He is sorely troubled at the Bad Report of his Wife, and can go into no Company, but her misdeeds are display'd before him, to his Grief, and her own Shame, an Invenom'd Tongue making a deep and incurable Wound; thus he sees himself the May-Game and Sport of every Flouting Fellow, and silently bears all that's thrown at him: every one has a fling at his Jacket, and the Gallants many at his Wife's Placket, who keep her under his very Nose, to the grief of his Heart, he pacing about the Town Acteon∣niz'd, and admir'd by the Boys and Rab∣ble, a Torment sufficient, I confess, to dis∣compose a wiser Head; but no matter, it is no more than he deserves, and all such contented Cuckolds: Let him live as long, and as well as he can, I'll not envy his Happiness, and when ever he Dyes, I hope I shall die in a better, tho not so contented a Condition.

The Eleventh COMFORT. The Town-Fop with Flesh in his Pot.

WHen a brave young Gentleman is at his own freedom, and has the World in a string, he may steer his own Course without care or controle. This our Gallant here, we intend to mention, has a good Estate, keeps high Company, Caresses Handsome Ladies, gives himself over to all manner of Pleasure, is his Fa∣ther's only Son and Joy. At length this Spark meets with a Young, Comely, Brisk, Sanguine Complexioned Lady, who can never long withstand a Suit well managed with Judgment, and well-tim'd with dis∣cretion, (tho every Woman of what Com∣plexion soever will permit a Man to screw himself into her Constitution, if she likes him) he hath made many and tedi∣ous Addresses to her, laid close Siege to her Chastity, so that the poor thing is able to hold out no longer, but must yield up the Fort, grants his request, and exposeth her self to his roose Em∣braces.

But the worst is to come, this is not all; the little viripotent Youngling of fifteen is Prolific, and proves with Child, for which there can be no other Remedy than Concealment, and as good luck would have it, the Mother had been in the Oven before, and understood well enough how to make the best of a bad Market, for the poor Girl knows not she is with Child, tho the Mother does, and she has not long to reckon; she pukes every Morning, ma∣king strange Grimaces, and complains that her stomach is untoward, and out of order: Well! without all Question, saith the Mother, you are with Child; now mind what I am going to say to you; as for your Gallant I have forbidden him my House for ever, he being too mean a match for you; be sure, Hussy, you never open your lips of this unlucky Job (which came by Jobbing) to any Christian Soul, and observe punctually what I shall say to you. Did you never take notice of the young Esquire that comes here sometimes? yes, Madam, saith she; well, take special notice of him next time, and he has pro∣mised to be here to Morrow: Behave your self discreetly, and show him a Plea∣sant Countenance: and when you spy me

a talking with the rest of the Company, dart a favourable, fascinating Glance upon him, cast a sheeps eye at him, do you un∣derstand me, Girl? yes, Madam; ob∣serve my directions: if he will keep you in discourse, answer him Modestly, if he proffers you Marriage, return him thanks innocently, but withal give him to under∣stand that you know-not what it is, nor do you desire to learn: If he offers you a present either of Gold or Silver, be sure you refuse it harmlesly; but if it be with a Jewel, Diamond, or Ring; do as Maids use to do, deny it modestly at first, say nay, and then take it. When he takes his leave of you ask him mildly, when you shall see him again? This Noble Blade is but an Inch of this side of a Natural, has a vast Estate, but a meer Town-Fop, whom the Mother will, if possible, work upon to Marry her Daughter, so that he is in great danger of being caught in the Net, and finely Bubled. Well! he repeats his Visits, as close as he can one upon the neck of the other: is very well received, splendidly Treated, and after dinner with∣draws with the young Lady, and Com∣plements her apart from the Company, takes her by the hand, and thus (like a

fool as he is) accosts her. Madam, I wish with all my Soul, that you knew but the ••houghts of my heart. Alas! Sir, that's ••mpossible, unless you discover them; I ••ope you think of no harm. Upon my Faith, not I, Madam, nor of any thing but what I would willingly have you know, ••nd that without my telling it. Truly Sir, saith she, and Ushers her discourse with a charming Smile: I cannot Divine, ••nd therefore 'tis impossible for me to un∣derstand you. If I thought, Madam, you would not be displeased, I would faith∣••ully discover them. Sir, replies the Young Lady, you have your freedom to say what ••ou please; for I have so good an opinion ••f you, that I presume you can say no∣••hing but what is Commendable and Ci∣••il. Madam, saith he, I am a Person, •• must confess, unworthy to Kiss your ••ands, and dare not presume to marry you ••eing a Lady adorn'd with all Natures ••erfection: but if you please to do me that Honour, (expect no Ceremony from me, Madam) I dare boast from my Heart, that I ••ould love you with all my Soul, and that ••o man can love you better, nor serve you ••ith that submission and affection that I ••an and will, for I resolve never to forsake

you, let what will befall me, and I shall be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tender of your Reputation, as my own. •• return you thanks, Sir, saith she, but I be•• seech you, cease your Discourse, do not har•• upon that string any longer; for I know not what it means, nor will I learn, that •• flat and Categorical; This Discour•• would offend my Mother, if it should read•• her ear. Faith, Madam, your Mother •• a very good Woman; but, if you please•• your Mother shall know nothing of it•• I will be wholly directed by your Com∣mands. Why do you say so, Sir, I am confi∣dent it would not be for your Good, nei∣ther would your Friends advise you to a•• ny such thing: Pray Sir forbear this kin•• of Talk; for if my Mother should hear i•• I am utterly undone, here the Mother gav•• her a Nod, seeing them both very earne•• in Discourse, for fear she should Miscarry•• and not Act her part well: Then the Ne•• led Youth claps a Ring in her hand, an•• begs of her to accept it for his sake; indeed•• Sir, I shall not; I beseech you, Madam wear it for my sake; well, Sir, saith sh•• at last, since it must be so, it shall be so and I will wear it upon your accoun•• Then the Mother comes to him, an•• tells him, to Morrow, Sir, we design t••

ride a little way out of Town, to take ••he Fresh Air; at which he rejoyceth; ••hen the time of Departure is come, the ••usiness is so ordered, that there is never •• Horse in the Company carries double, ••ut the young Gentleman's, at which ••e is not a little pleased; so it falls out ••appily, that his Mistress is set behind ••im, who hugs the Pummel of her Sadle •…•…r her own Security, I leave you to judge ••hether he likes his Company or no: •…•…e Gentleman is very near the Net; for •…•…is Journey was only undertaken to catch •…•…e Young Widgeon; he keeps close to ••is Mistress; and when the Mother sinds ••n opportunity, she enquires of her Daugh∣••r how squares go, and she tells her all: ••rom henceforward, saith she, Daughter, ••hatever you do, carry your self discreet∣•…•…, if he talks of Marrying you, tell him, ••ou must acquaint me with it, but withal, •…•…at he is the only Man in the World you •…•…ve, and that you will never have any ••ut him. Then they take a Walk in the ••arden, then he takes her by the hand, ••nd says, Fine Lady! take pity of me, I ••eseech you: Pray, Sir, talk no more on't, ••r if you do, I will forsake your Com∣••any: Spare me one word more without

offence, if you would be pleased to Crow•• me with this Happiness, I should take •• for the greatest Honour that was ev•• confer'd upon Mortal. Sir, saith she, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 must be proposed to my Relations, or el•• I can say nothing to't: If I thought the would approve of it, I would propose 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my self; for God's sake, saith the cu•• ning Gipsie, have a care, that you do n•• say a word of my proposing any su•• thing, for I should die through shame, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 any such thing should be said of me; n•• I, upon my Faith, Madam; and then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 way he goes to the Mother, and discou•• ses the business so respectively, that it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 concluded, and they make up the Mat•• immediately; the sooner, the better, a•• things considered, for Hans in Kelda•• sake: Now the Poor Gentleman is •• the Net, and no body as yet knows of i•• but at last it comes to the Ears of his Pa∣rents, who are grieved at the very hea•• knowing it to be too inferiour a Mat•• for their Son: thus they are Wedded •• haste, and may repent at leisure; he w•• Married without Licence, unaskt 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Church, without any Ceremony; an•• way in the World, so that the business •• once over. Well, night draws on, the Moth•…•…

takes her Daughter to task, and instils some of her good, Motherly Instructions into her, relating to her Carriage with her Husband that Night: she charges her to put him to it as a Virgin ought to do; and farther, that as soon as he entred the Premises, with some feigned Reluctancy on her part, she must fall into a fainting shriek, as if she had fallen into a cold wa∣ter in a hot fit. Thus she Tutors her Daughter to deceive the Young Fop. All things hitherto are very well, but mark what follows, there is a cursed sting in the Tail; for within two or three Months, the Young Bride groans, and falls all to pieces; it could be no longer hid, a Young Babe peeps into the World, and that spoils all. Now all the Joy is con∣verted into Sorrow, and he knows not what to do with himself. He is quite at a loss: If he turns her away, the whole World will be acquainted with it, and he cannot Marry again, and for her part she will take care of one. 'Tis an ill Hen that can't scrape for one Chicken. If he keeps her and co-habits with her, she will never care a Pin for him, nor he for her, there will be no Love lost of either side, I'll be bold to say. Well! All is well

that ends well, saith the good old Adage, and so say I too; but from such Comfort in the Close, from such an End as this, Good Lord deliver me!

The Twelfth COMFORT. The Domineering Wife, and Contented Lap-Dog.

AND a sweet one 'tis too, if you knew all. Our Youngster in this Case is one hath beat about the Net so long, that at last he hath found a hole to creep in at; and to be sure hath verified the Adage, fast bind, fast find, he has ti∣ed an Indissolluble Knot, but here is his Comfort still, that he hath Married such a Non pareille, such a matchless Wom•• for Morality, Goodness, and Vertue, that she is not to be Parallel'd in the Uni∣verse: He admires her Discourse, extols her Education, commends her Deport∣ment, dotes upon her Face, is so Capti∣vated with the Distinction of her Sex, that he is Ravish'd with his Choice, and

boasts of his Prudent election; he is re∣solved to let loose the Reins of Govern∣ment, and permit her to bear the Sway; nothing shall be done, but what has first the Stamp of her Approbation: She is his All, and He her Nothing, nay, you will find at last, that she values him little or nothing: He is as Tame as a Man, reduc'd by Phlebotomy to a weakly con∣dition, and made up of nothing but Obe∣dience. There's my Man (if he hath not forfeited his Manhood) as good a Husband ••s ever laid Leg over Woman. If His King and Country raise an Army to op∣••ose a Foreign Invasion, he shall not stir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Foot, unless she be in the Humour to ••ermit him, he shall not go to the Wars; ••or his Wife is too tender of him to let ••im be so long out of her sight; Hang 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he shall not March, lest he returns ••ith Grinning or Cripled Honour. Come, ••ome, Sweet Heart! saith she, 'tis good ••eeping in a whole Skin; you never was ••t out for Martial Enterprizes; your Bo∣•…•… is too young and tender to be exposed 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Hazard and Hardship of Ruffling ••ar: Let others purchase Renown, that ••ncy it, at never ••o dear a Rate, you shall ••joy your self at Home in Peace and Qui∣etness.

Thus is the fond Fop absolutely Governed by his Wife, she has him fast, and will not lose an Inch of her hold If she has a mind to Juncket and Sport with her Gallant, he must to Bed, and then the Goose is laid to the Fire. Some times she puts him in mind of urgent Bu∣siness, and then he must rise at Midnigh to dispatch it; or else she exposes him to a Journey, that she may have the bette•• Opportunity to enjoy her Friend; or h•• must rise all Hours in the Night to fet•…•… her a Doctor to cure the Stich or Pain 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the Side, and expose himself to the injur•• of the Weather, when in the interim sh∣admits her Gallant, who is so bold as t•• Scale the Walls, creep in at the Window and a thousand such little Love-Toys, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 accomplish his Design and Desire. Som•• times it falls out that her Friend 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Planted himself behind the Hangings, an•• her mischievous little Lap-dog smells hi•• out, and she tells her Husband, they a•• Rats and Mice that he Barks at, and pe•• swades him 'tis the poor Cur's Custom 〈◊〉〈◊〉 do so; but at last she frightens him awa•• with, Out you little Foisting Cur, what 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Noise is here with you? and then he snea•• away like a dog that has burnt his Ta••

She makes him dandle the Child to sleep, and sing a Nocturnal Lullaby to the In∣nocent Babe, while he like an Innocent Fool does it without Murmuring: she makes him carry the Distaff or Spindle, whilst she is cutting out more work for him: she spins a fair Thread at last, and ••e to his cost finds that, he hath brought his Hogs to a fair Market. In short, like a Spa∣•…•…el he is made to fetch and carry, when, ••nd what she pleases; the poor Fop never ••njoys a minutes rest or content, runs thro 〈◊〉〈◊〉 World of Sorrow and Tribulation, and so ••et him, unpitied for me; for he seems to ••e created to no other End. He has brought ••n old House over his Head, which is pre∣••ntly until'd, if he speaks but one word •• contradict her: she has got the upper Hand of him, and 'tis now too late to re∣〈◊〉〈◊〉 her: had he taken her down in her Wedding-shoes, there might have been ••opes of doing some good with her; but 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is in vain, nay impossible to work upon ••er now.

Thus he grows Aged through Care, ••rief and Vexation, is slighted by his ••ame, like an old Faulkner, or to speak ••ore properly, like an Old Wife (the ••orst of Creatures,) good for nothing.

His (or rather-her) Domestick Affairs, he must not intermeddle with: she is the Domina fac totum; and if any of he•• Daughters be Marriageable, she disposeth of them to whom she pleaseth, withou•• his Consent or Approbation: If they are well Matcht, well and good: if ill he dares not find fault with it, much less upbraid her for it. She plays the Wo•• man exactly, and will have her Will in every thing, right or wrong, there is no•• gainsaying, unless he has a mind to make the House too hot to hold him. Now Appeal to all Rational Men, what greate Torment can there be to a Man that such a Ruling Houswise? what greate Plague to a Husband than such a Do•…•… neering Wife? O the unutterable com•• fort of such an easie, pleasant Life, whe•• the good Woman takes all the B••the upon her own Shoulders, Manages a•• Affairs at home and abroad, and he no•• so much as concerned with any, live happily and free from the Cares and Tur•• moils of a Wedded Life, Dies with Grie•• and Shame, to see himself so Conquer by his Wife, and so sneaks out of th•• World, quite weary of it, without pit•• or compassion: There let him rest quie••∣ly

in his Grave, that never did so in his Life-time, without Epitaph or Monu∣ment, but that everlasting one of his Folly, that he left behind him to Poste∣tity.

The Thirteenth COMFORT. The Wedded Widdower, and Single Wife.

THis Gentleman we are to treat of here, is of a quite different Temper from the last, who will not be Rul'd by his Wife, but is of a Noble, Martial Spi∣rit, and runs in pursuit of Honour and Fame. He is resolved to venture his Life and Fortune in his Princes Service be∣yond-Sea, and in order thereunto first ac∣quaints his Wife with his unshaken Reso∣lution; she Embraces and Caresses him with Tears, in her Eyes: Alas! my dear, saith she, can you have the heart to for∣sake me and the Pledges of our Love, these sweet Babes? will you now desert me, and leave me and my Children to the

wide World, Comfortless and Husband∣less, when we have lived so contentedly, as Man and Wife, for some years toge∣ther? My Dear! saith he, I must go, my Honour lies at stake, which is dearer than Life and all in the World besides. I must obey my King, or forfeit my Loyalty, and the Estate that I hold of his Majesty by Tenure to serve him in his Wars; but in Grace of God I hope to see you suddenly, if he please to continue my Life and Health, and he is best able to provide for you. Thus he takes leave of his Wife with a heavy heart, and she is as big with seeming sorrow at their parting; recom∣mending her, and his Children to the Care and Tuition of his Friends. Assoon as he arrives at the Camp, he being an active, brave Soul, cannot rest without some attempt to signalize his Valour, and attacques the Enemy with so brisk an as∣sault, that he clears all before him, so the Dispute continues hot on both sides a con∣siderable time, but at last, stimulated by Honour and Glory, presses too far into the Body of the Enemy, and the Poor Gentleman has the misfortune to be taken Prisoner, and there is kept three or four Years, before he can procure an Exchange

or Ransom to obtain his Liberty. His Lady is very Inquisitive after his Welfare, and at last receives some slight and uncer∣tain Information of his Death, which she seems to take very Grievously, and falls into an excess of Sorrow; but certainly Women were not Created only to weep; besides inordinate Grief is prohibited and sinful. God be thanked, in a very short time this grief is over, and she is married to another. The entire Affection she had for her former Husband and his Issue is quite forgot and lost; all her fond Ca∣reffes and Embraces before, and at his de∣parture, are buried with him (as she thinks) in Oblivion, without hopes of a Resur∣rection; she shews more love to the se∣cond than she did to her first Husband; but that fickle Baggage Fortune will have it so, that her Husband at length is Re∣leased, returns Home, tho much decay∣ed and broken by the severity of his Im∣prisonment, and the hard usage he receiv∣ed from the Enemy. No sooner arrived, but he makes diligent Inquisition after his Wife and Children, and the thoughts of their miscarriage, did certainly much ag∣gravate the affliction and grief of his Cap∣tivity. At last he understands the dismal

and unwelcome news of her Second Mar∣riage: now judge you what a Confusion he is in at this stabbing Relation. The anguish of Priam King of Troy, when he was acquainted with the Death of Hector, was not certainly comparable to his; at last he comes Home, and is fully inform∣ed of all the particulars. What a Distra∣ction he now is in may possibly be faintly imagined, but never fully exprest; what Course to steer, or how to grapple with this Misfortune, is a Controversie that cannot well be decided. What Revenge can he study suitable to her Crime? what punishment doth she not deserve to have inflicted upon her for Faithlessness? As he is a Man of Courage and Honour he can never be so Puny-spirited as to put up this Injury unsatisfied, nor can he buck∣le to so tame and unmanly a Condescen∣tion, as to re-admit her into his Bed, tho her Husband should dispence with it. On the other side, he who Married her last must needs be very much disturbed at this unlucky Business, and having been sati∣ated with her, must hate and forsake her, for Love and Empire never admit of Cor∣rivals. And what a sad Case now is she in by her over-forwardness and Creduli∣ty?

she has lost her Reputation; both her Husbands and her own Honour, hath bu∣ried all her Modesty in the Grave of In∣famy, and exposed her self to the Virulent Tongues of carping Momi; her Children will be afflicted and disturbed at the Mis∣fortune of the Mother, the vexation of the Father, and consequently at the Infe∣licity of both their Parents.

Thus they two, who might have lived comfortably all their days, by this unlucky accident, are like to live miserably, to whom length of days, the greatest Happiness on Earth, will prove their greatest Misery. Marry they must not, cannot, dare not: This is one of the desireable Comforts of Matrimony: One of the Enjoyments of a Wedded Life: One of the Pleasures of a Coupled Condition. They must live asunder withour hopes of a re-union, he must die a Wedded Widdower, and she a single Wife, an unhappy Mystery to both, and an unfortunate, tho unheard of Paradox.

The Fourteenth COMFORT. The Disconsolate Widower justly punish'd.

HE that is senfible of this Comfort is one, who hath taken such pains to find a passage into the Net, that he is got in and ensnared by a young, beauti∣ful, and well tempered Woman; and they enjoy their Delights and Pleasures without Contention or Disturbance; a happy life indeed, and such as might make a Man thirst after the Cup of Matrimony. They Caress one another incessantly, like two Turtles, for they are two in one united; and if the one is in the least Discompos'd, the other Sympathiseth in the pain and Affliction; but these are Halcyon Days, too serene and calm to last long; for the Wife dies suddenly, and puts a Period to all their Amours and Happy Enjoyments. The Young Man grows very Disconso∣late, bewails Night and Day the Irrepara∣ble Loss of his Wife; sometimes com∣plaining of Death, and other times of the Capriciousness of Versatile Fortune, Na∣ture's Whirlegig, that is always turning,

and never fixed or setled. Thus for some time he lives in Misery, shuns all Society, abandons all Comfort, ruminating upon his Misfortune, the Deprivation of so good and kind a Comfort: He dreams of her continually, thinks of her without Inter∣mission, and loves her Memory. But it is as true, as old a saying, nullum violentum est perpetuum: Sorrows are short, that are sharp and violent. But after all, this our young Gentleman tho he hath been once catcht in the Net, and freed, must be so Foppish as to venture a second time, and is baited into it again, to his great Grief and Discontent: by a Widdow, who is a Person of a quite contrary Humour to his former Wife, of a middle Age: First she carries her self very demurely with tole∣rable Discretion; but at length, when she hath sufficiently pried into his Temper, and throughly understands his Constitu∣tion, then she begins to shew her Teeth, and play upon his sweet Dispesition (a Fault too incident to that Sex) brings him to her bow, and manages him to her best advantage, she studying nothing but her own, not his Satisfaction: And cer∣tainly there are no such Vassals in the worst of Servitude, who are so enslaved, as sim∣ple

Young Men, when link'd to Widdow'd Women, especially when they are of a Cross and Sordid Humour; and he that is so unfortunate as to be reduced to this Extremity, has no other Redress, but to pray to God to grant him Patience to un∣dergo this weighty Affliction; if that won't do, his utmost Refuge is to have recourse to a Silken Halter, and so strangle himself together with his Misery. Now she begins to appear in her Colours; she grows Jealous of him (the very Bane of a Married Life) and is so insatiable that she is dissatisfied, if he be but a minute out of her Embraces, cannot endure him out of her sight, and every Woman he casts an Eye upon, he lusts after. When Widdows meet with young Flesh, they cherish it, because it renews their Strength and Vigour; and there is nothing more Noisome, or prejudicial to a Young man's Health, than a Lascivious, Draining, Old Wife: Yet I look upon an Old Man to be the greater Bruit of the two, who Smugs and Trims himself up with all Artificial Ornaments to make him appear Youth∣ful, and then Marries a Young Girl: That is a most intolerable piece of Vanity, a Foppery neither to be allowed, nor imi∣tated:

His Nauseous Breath, proceeding from the corruption of Decayed Lungs, must needs offend beyond Expression; Coughing, Sneezing, Spawling, Groan∣ing and Spitting (tho not a word of spit∣ting in the right Bason) must needs be very unacceptable to Youth, if not Odious and Loathsome: But to return to our Young Gentleman, taken in the Net a se∣cond time (the greater his Folly) his Wife grows so greedy after Man's Flesh, that she could find in her heart to turn She-Canibal, and devour it she is stark mad with Jealousie, and if he goes to Church with never such Real, Pious and Devout Inten∣tions, she suspects he has some Sinister and Wicked Designs. I am apt to believe, there can be no Real Love without some smack or spice of Jealousie: for certainly no Man or Woman would match them∣selves to a Creature, who had no good Quality, or Parts to create an Inclination in a second Person towards them, that would betray the Foolishness of their Choice; but this sort of Jealousie, or ra∣ther Suspicion, occasions no Domestick Feuds, or Houshold Jarrs, because it is on∣ly an Excess of Kindness or Affection; but that which creates a groundless Su∣spicion

and Diffidence of the Party belo∣ved, and ends in Brawling and Conten∣tion, must needs be the worst of Plagues, and the Cursed Sting and Torment of Matrimony. If these be the Comforts of a Married Life, let me enjoy my Li∣berty and Freedom in a single State, and live happily without Dissatisfaction or Di∣sturbance. I do not in the least blame the State of Matrimony, mistake me not; but the Rash and Precipitate Election of those Hotspurs, that run headlong into that Condition without deliberate Consi∣deration. Hippocrates, the Famous Greek Physician, hath a smart saying, and very pertinently Applicable to our young Gen∣tlemen, Vetulam non novi, cur morior? I never Wedded an old Wife, and why should I die? it had been well for him, if he had laid this Sentence to heart, and matcht himself to one of his own youth∣ful Temper, then he might have liv'd happily and contentedly, tho here we must take our leave of him, gasping for his last Breath in a wretched and deplo∣••able Condition.

The Fifteenth COMFORT. The double Cajoal.

THis is a great and Prodigious Com∣fort, a Comfort that cannot be ex∣prest significantly. Our Married Man here chanceth to meet with a Woman who is much addicted to the shaking of her El∣bow, as well as of her Tail, two good Qualities in a good Wife, and the good Man is like to thrive upon't. This course of Life she leads for a considerable time undisturbed, because undiscover'd, but at length he finds his Estate decay by her expensive Gaming; suspects her Fidelity, and is resolved to watch an opportunity, to discover, if possible, her Amorous In∣trigues: And one day, as Fate would have it, he enters her Chamber privately, and surprizeth her in the very Action, or in a very suspicious and wanton posture. The Husband incensed with Rage and Fury, cannot contain himself any longer within bounds, but flies at her Gallant with a design to make him breath out his last up∣on the Spot, but as he is striking at him,

his Wife, kind Soul! (as it behoves her; for she ought not to stand by, and be guil∣ty of Murder,) comes and embraces her Husband; Ah! for Gods sake, my Dear, have a care that you do not hit an unlucky Blow, and be Guilty of Blood-shed; whereupon the Blade clears himself of his intended Assassine, and shews him a fair pair of Heels; 'twas well he was nim∣ble-footed, or else he had certainly been sa∣crificed to his Fury; but Fear and Guilt have Wings as well as Love, and in short he makes his escape. The Husband pur∣sues him, but to no purpose; for he hath secured himself by Flight: whereupon he returns like a Hungry, Rampant Lion in∣to the Chamber, thinking to meet with his Wife, and make her his Prey; but a∣las! the Bird is flown. Now what think you is become of this Unfortunate and Disconsolate Woman? why she is fled to her Relations, and acquaints them with all these Passages in a Mournful Di∣alect, with some seeming Regret. At this Relation all the whole Family is in an uproar; sometimes blaming him for his Severity, but her, most of all, for her Impudence and Indiscretion. The Wife palliates the business to her Mother, at the

first, but upon strict Examination Con∣fesseth with Sighs and Tears the whole matter (the Mother understanding very well how to manage a Cause of this Na∣ture, who had her self been guilty of the same miscarriage, tho with more Privacy and Secrecy, without Injury to her Repu∣tation by so Palpable and Notorious a Dis∣covery) Well! they meet and consult how to smother the business, and by Menaces on the one hand, and Intreaties on the o∣ther hand, to reduce the easie natur'd Husband to a better Temper, and by all means possible, to patch up a Reconcilia∣tion, and make Peace between them. In order thereunto, first they tamper with his Chamber-Maid, a Procureur d'Amour, a Procuring Bawd, or Female Pander to her Mistresses Lust, and they ask her how it is with her Master, since this unlucky Disaster? To whom she replies, he is in a very desperate, discontented Condition, hath taken no sustenance at all since that Misfortune happ'ned, nor had any Rest or Sleep to Refresh him. When he sate down to Dinner, this Day, he did not swallow so much as one Morsel, his Sto∣mach was too weak to entertain food; then he sits as Melancholy as one that is

Hypocondriacal; has a gastly, wan look, as if Grief had drunk up all the colour of his face. Sometimes he wrings his Hands, shakes his Head, bites his Fingers ends, takes his Knife, and sticks it in the Table, and afterward throws it away with great Indignation. Then presently, on a sud∣den, starts up and takes a Promenade in the Garden, but returns with a distracted look, before he hath passed thirty Yards; he can neither sit nor stand still one mi∣nute in a place; Night and Day he sighs, bemoans himself, that it would extort pity from a Barbarian, to see him in this sad Condition. Well! at length, after some time elapsed, when they Judged the storm was somewhat over, and that he was grown more cool and temperate. Some of the most forward and crafty of that Fe∣male Gang of her Friends and Relations attacque the Husband, like the Northern Wind, blusteringly, and the Tempest be∣ing over, strike Sail, and discourse with as great Moderation and Subtlety, com∣mending his Wife for her Vertue, Mode∣sty, and Piety (a pious Devil indeed) and that they have known her for several Years to live like a Modest Wife, with an unstained Reputation, obedient to your

self, respective to her Neighbours, and civil to all Persons of both Sexes. Now for you openly to defame her, to the ru∣ine of her Honour, upon some imaginary surmize, is unkind, and injurious in so high a nature, that you can never make her amends: besides, Sir, let me be plain with you in a business of so great Con∣cernment, say, or think what you will, to my own certain knowledge, two per∣sons may be closely engaged in Discourse together, in a very friendly posture, and yet not do the thing that you imagine, nor ever so much as entertain a thought of so Disloyal and Immodest an Action, as to defile their Husband's Bed. What he might, like a bold Ruffian attempt, I will not here dispute, that is none of my pretence, but Foreign to the matter in hand; yet this I'll confidently aver and maintain against all opposition, that there is no Man breathing, that your Lady hates like this Villain, who hath so rashly brought an old House over her Head; nay, I am satisfied in my Conscience, that she would sooner see him suffer the most Ignomini∣ous Death that ever was executed upon the most Notorious Criminal, than per∣mit him to touch her in an uncivil way.

Let me perswade you to consult your rea∣son, and not thus ruffle and discompose your self with a meer Chimaera or Fancy; the poor Woman is so swell'd with Tears, that she hath scarce an Eye to peep out of, wrings her hands, bewails her condition, and laments without intermission, the dis∣pleasure you have conceived against her; it lies in your power yet to make up the business, with a Salvo to her, and your own Reptutation; for long she cannot continue in this languishing condition, and I hope you do not thirst after her blood, that were Inhuman and Unchristian. Come, come, Sir, let me tell you, you must foget and forgive, if there were (tho I see no) cause for either, upon your Wife's account: Besides, do you think, if your Wife were a Dissolute Woman, a Woman of tainted Reputation, that we would un∣dervalue our selves so much, as to keep her Company? No, no, never cherish any such thought in you, for that were to stab our Fame and Honour, as well as hers: Nay, Sir, I must tell you farther, I have been acquainted with her from her Child-hood, and am so far from know∣ing harm by her, that I dare maintain, she has been the Pattern of Vertue in this

Country. What, saith the Husband, will you perswade me out of my Senses? I saw it with my own eyes. In good Faith, 'tis no such thing, say what you will; the Senses are fallible, for want of a proper Medium, or through some weakness or imperfection in the Optics. O Brave Dame! well Philosophis'd, I protest: we use to say, Seeing is believing; but in this case, it seems, a Man must not believe his own eyes. Well! the Husband begins to be of a more Sedate and Serene Tem∣per, and considers with himself, that Jea∣lousie casts a Mist before the sight, and makes a Man see double, or very imper∣fectly: So now he is resolved tamely to put up all wrongs, wipe his mouth, and be si∣lent for the future; the Women smile to see the Business so well managed, pro∣mise to bring them together again, and take their leave of him for the present. Thus the facil Gentleman is convinced of his Errour, and very much troubled, that ever he entertained such a Thought, and so he receives his Wife again, and all things are buried in their mutual Embraces. Now what think you will be the Issue of all this? she upon this grows Insolent, and hits him in the Teeth with his Recognition

and Acknowledgement, upbraiding him with the Injury he hath done her. The Gallant and Neighbours must be Treat∣ed with a costly Collation to put up the business, and now they may enjoy them∣selves without Controul, her Friend Ca∣nesses her, and she him, one good turn, you know, deserves another, and Ingra∣titude is the Blackest of Crimes. Thus she is a Lady Paramount, consumes his Estate with Gaming, wastes his Body with grieving him, persecutes his Soul, till it takes its flight, and so at last, loaden with Years and Cares, is wafted over in Charon's Ferry, to the Elysian Shades; and there's an end of his Misery.

The Sixteenth COMFORT. The Poor Man's Comfort.

NOw we are come into the Teens, and past thorow the better half of our Matrimonial Solaces, we will discourse a little of this Sixteenth, which is a poor and pitiful Comfort indeed; for here Pe∣nury and Pertinacy are Wedded together, as well as Man and Wife, both of them are Children of the Mean Mob, Pro∣phane Vulgus, or what you please to term them, mean in Parentage, as well as in Parts and Purse, he but of ordinary, and she of no extraordinary Mold, yet in time, after some Years Co-habitation and Co∣operation, they are blest with a Nume∣rous Company of brats (Chargeable Bles∣sings indeed, and fitter for the Parish to maintain than this Couple) they Drudge, Moil, Toil, and do all that can as yet be requir'd, but by and by you must be roun∣ded in the Ear with another dismal Sto∣ry, and you know very well, or at least I will inform you, that it is an old Proverb with the Phlegmatick Butter-box, when

any thing is done effectually and to pur∣pose, they say, 'tis perform'd as poor men get Children. But to proceed, if they prove negligent, the craving Appetite of the Bawling and Pratling Babe will soon wea∣ry them into a remembrance of their Pa∣rental Office, in providing for their Fa∣mily, since they were not so cautious as to make Provision before they engaged themselves rashly in that incumbent Duty. Thus the Good Man after a hard days Drudgery, having been at it before the Sun appear'd in our Hemisphere, and con∣tinued it till he is gone to bestow his kind influence upon the Antipodes, who when tir'd Nature requiring some Re∣freshment, he sits at one end of the House like the Image of a Slovenly Mechanic, and she like the sluttish Effigies of Charity, with one Child at her Breast, a second in her Lap, a third upon the Ground, grasping her Knees, and the rest about them crying for Bread, bawling for Drink, screaming to be undrest, gaping and yawning to be laid to sleep: (a charming noise, and ra∣vishing harmony no doubt, enough to drive a man out of his wits, for not ha∣ving so much previous wit, as to consider it before) thus they have both their hands

and heart full, God help them, he Rocks ••e Cradle, and she feeds the hungry ••mily, and all little enough to satisfie ••e grumbling of their craving Maws. ••aving been thus, for some Years, so∣••ced with the Comforts of Matrimony, ••e begins to find his Wedded Life irk∣••me, which makes him neglect his Af∣••irs, slight his Business, Charges still ••creasing, and Trade decaying, now he ••s taken heart, and is resolved for the ••ture to make use of the too common ••ode of these times, to turn a Good ••llow, frequent the Tipling-House ••ore than formerly, and his Shop less; ••y if his Stock will at any time reach 〈◊〉〈◊〉 he will to Tavern, and there sing ••d Rose, till Night and the Constable, ••ho Summon all to go to their Rest and ••abitations; then he Reels Home with ••mptiness in his Pocket, Rage in his ••ooks, and Vexation in his Heart; ••nd there he meets with a second Ren∣••unter worse than the former, from his ••ife (a Domestick, but sometimes ••tameable Animal) Well Thomas! ••aith she) dost thou think that I am ••le to endure this cursed Life? or can ••u imagine, that I must be confin'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Home, with a parcel of Children

about my ears without Bread and Drink to put in their Heads, whilst you are Revelling abroad Night and day, a∣mong your Sottish Companions: I can∣not bear it any longer, but am resolv'd to go abroad too, and then do you take care and provide for the Children: I'll learn out your Haunts, and find you out if you are above ground, ne'r fear it; and and then assure your self, I'll Ring you and your Drunken Associates such a peal, as shall soon break up your Com∣pany. He being heated with Drink, and naturally a surly, sower Fellow, lays his brawny Arms upon her, and cor∣rects her for her Scolding, insomuch that she is forced to keep House for a Week or Fortnight, to prevent the bat∣ter'd black and blew Livery of her Eyes and Face from being discovered by the Gossiping Neighbourhood; he in th•• ••n∣terim gets up in the Morning, and away to the Alehouse to refresh himself, and torment her at Home for her last Nights Work. Now he's grown irretriveably lost, as to his Trade and Family, works very little, and that more for outward shew than any thing else, is grown so bewitch∣ed to his new Gang of pot Companions, that he has taken resolution to Rant,

Tear and fling the Helve after Hatchet; ••ut Money he must procure by one means 〈◊〉〈◊〉 other, to maintain him in this Debauched Course of life, partly by his ••wn Inclination, and the repeated Per∣••asions of his beloved Friends; then the ••oushold Moveables must march off, ••nd be engaged for the supply of his Extravagant Expences, till there are no ••ore to move out of the Cottage. The ••oor Woman at Home seeing all going 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ruine and destruction, grows Impa∣••ient at his Miscarriages, and resolves ••pon her Dernier Effort, to make her ••ords good (as she had formerly pro∣••nised) she in a Rage flies out, and is ••pon the quest to find him and his Haunts; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 last, by some information, or possibly ••y meer Accident (for Wives are very ••ccessful in conjectures of this Nature, ••ven to admiration) she hits on it, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 she dances with this Salutation to the ••eople at the Bar, Is my Husband here? ••es, in such a Room; away she goes, ••nd assoon as ever she enters, finds ••hem at the heighth of their Mirth, ••moaking, Drinking, Singing, Swearing, ••nd what not? but that which exas∣••erates her most, is, a dirty Doxie Tip∣ling

among them, as impudent in her Be∣haviour as contemptible in her Garb, bu•• like will to like, Jack will have his Gill, and Jone is as good as my Lady. Impati∣ent at this Baggage, that toucheth he•• Copy-hold so closely, the Hurrican is nigh at hand by black Clouds of he•• Countenance, and with a Volley of up∣braiding words, such as Jade, Whore, Bitch, what dare you keep my Husband Company, to the Ruine of him and his Fa∣mily? Then follows a Broad-side o•• Pots, Cans, Candlesticks, Pipes (and here the destruction of Pipes becomes the Generation of Stoppers) and 100 to one, if in this sharp Counterscuffle n•• great Mischief be done, she certainly gives the Gentlewoman some slight Mar•• of her Honesty, which she certainly car∣ries to the Grave. In this confused Scene of Rage and Fury, the surprize doth a•• bash the whole Company (but more par∣ticularly her Husband) insomuch, tha•• they use all possible smooth Language t•• pacifie her Wrath, which with much ado is effected by discharging the Wenc•• privately by the conveyance of som•• back way, and so break up the Company Now he knows not what course to stee•• (for he's satisfied he shall never enjoy

a quiet minute with her for the future) unless it be to Barbadoes or Jamaica (the usual Receptacle of Debauched and Crackt Artificers) which he soon effects, and so at last, having sold all that he hath, sells himself too, packs away, and is gone the first Wind that serves for his turn; leaves his Children as an inheri∣tance to the Parish, and his Wife to the Almes house, if they will be so Cha∣ritable, as to do it, considering her Mis∣fortune. Thus you may soon guess at the issue of this Comfort of Matrimony: the Wife has left this wide World to beg in, but only the expectancy of a single Parish to maintain her: the Hus∣band is transported into another World, where through a stream of Excess and Intemperance, with the heat of the Cli∣mate, swims into a third, in a very litle time, and so dies a Slave and Stranger, imperiously insulted over whilst alive, and when dead, quoited into a hole, without the least Mourning, or indeed so much as Christian Burial

The Seventeenth COMFORT. The fatal Couple.

AND this will appear to be mor•• strange and incredible than al•• those that preceed, by reason of its Vil∣lany, and the fatal consequences there∣of. Here a Gentleman of good Learn∣ing and Education, but better Fortune, who by the consent of his Parents is disposed of to as Opulent a Gentlewo∣man, and every way correspondent to him in Youth, Parts and Portion: he Caresses with hot and frequent Ad∣dresses of Love; wishes that he might grow to her Threshold, that he might have the more frequent Fruition of her never-enough admired Society; she re∣turns answer to all his fervent Appli∣cations, with a most becoming and charming Modesty; so that upon the strictest Observations of their mutual Deportment, nothing can be discern'd but a Matchless Amorous Passion be∣tween them reciprocally. When a con∣venient time is thus sported away, by making their Amours, the Nuptial Ceremony (after preparations necessa∣ry

in Affairs of this Nature) is Cele∣brated, (and nothing but Joy and Com∣fort seems to attend their Cohabitation) which for continuance of time, delici∣ous Viands, luxurious Wines, toge∣ther with all sorts of other Liquors, Balls, Musick, Jollity, and other Di∣versions, indeed for plenty of all things, besides the numerous Train of Invited Guests, Servants and Attendants, was never exceeded; nay, 'tis yet a questi∣on unanswered, whether ever equalli∣zed in this present, or some preceeding Ages. After the Ceremony of Solem∣nization is over, they Love as affectio∣nately, Live as splendidly, as their Port can possibly bear (and further too, as you will speedily be satisfied) in their Country-Castle, during the Re∣freshing and Healthful Summer, to en∣joy the benefit of the Air, the Plea∣santness of their Evening Promenade, the delightful Prospects of the Meads, Pastures, Fruitful and Delightful Fields of Corn, and all those inexpressible sa∣tisfactions that usually attend the se∣renity of a Rural Life, and when wea∣ried, or rather refreshed with these Pleasures, return to their City-Apart∣ment; either for the Management of

Affairs, or the enjoyment of the Va∣riety and Choice of the more Gentile and better sort of Company. Here they both soon obtain by their Parts and Pence, Acquaintance of all Sorts and Tempers, so that 'tis impossible in such a World of People, but they must necessarily meet those that comply with them in temper and humour. To Plays, Revels, Masquesat Court, they daily resort, and to other Places, when they receive Information of them; so that there is no Publick Treat or Di∣version can possibly escape, and in small time, gaining great Acquaintance, and that with great Ones too, according as the times, he must needs Rencoun∣ter, as well as his Lady, with no small or trivial Temptations. After they have steer'd this course some years, the Real Estate sinks and impairs too too sensibly, and which is worst of all, they both prove Improlisic (and possibly the Curse of Barrenness is the punishment of their Debauchery) so that by a strange kind of unusual, tho mutual consent, he procures a Chargeable Miss, and she an Expensive Gallant, he shakes his Elbow, and she her Tail, and in process of time, they become equally experi∣enced

in both these fashionable Qualifi∣cations; so that in some few annual Revolutions, the Estate consumes, and moulders away to nothing, by Mort∣gages and vast Debts contracted, the Retinue is turn'd off for want of Means to support them, as formerly, House∣keeping laid aside, and the Moveable Goods pawn'd or sold outright, to maintain them. Upon this, being sear'd and grown obstinately Profligate and senseless of their Vanity and Impiety, through customary sinning, they consult how to repair their consumptive and almost expired Fortunes, by Injurious, Illegal, Base and Sordid Actions, which at length bring them to a shameful Ca∣tastrophe, being both too haughty and high Spirited, to live in a low and de∣spicable Condition; therefore he turns Pad, and she Buttock and File, (that is Highway-Man and Pick-Pocket-Whore, in plain, honest English, according to the Canting of the Roguish-Crew) into which they are now admitted and ma∣triculate. Well! what think you fol∣lows these wicked Resolutions, to take up a wicked course of Life? why, you may soon guess, tho Fortune seem to favour them for some time, success sel∣dom

smiles long upon such wretched Ʋn∣dertakers, but usually brings them to Condign Punishment. Possibly, afte•• some perpetrated Villanies, the Pro∣duct of their as yet successful Crime•• may furnish them with a Stock, in ca•…•… of unavoidable necessity, when the•• are firmly catch'd in the Net of th•• Law (as formerly they were in that 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Matrimony) This may prevail once o•• twice by a Lucky and Chargeable—bu•• this proving no caution, but rather a•• encouragement to repeat their forme•• Courses, they go on as vigorously a•• before, and by skulking in privat•• holes, and obscure recesses, stave them∣selves off from the strict inquisition o•• Justice; but at length, (for now thei•• Wicked Reign is near its period) som•• crafty Officers, accustomed to be em∣ployed in such Affairs, and by th•• means of some injur'd person, allure•• thereunto by the promise of a goo•• Gratuity, searches diligently, find•• them suddenly, and, by the necessary of a Justices Mittimus, conveys the•• immediately, without Bail or Main•• prise, to a Loathsome and Fatal Gao•• The Seisions are now at hand, and they in a Panick Fear, that they shall no••

come off, being conscious of their Guilt: Well! to a Trial they are brought, and their Indictment contain∣ing the Crimes for which they are ac∣cused: they then have recourse to Newgate-Evasions, Presbyterian Shams (I mean Lying and Dissembling) and such kind of insignificant Triflings with the Court, who, tired out therewith, direct the Jury (who never Read Igno∣ramus) and they, upon a full Hearing of the Evidence, bring them in Guilty: Upon this, Sentence of Death is pro∣nounced, and they are sent to their last Habitation here, as fast tied by the Executioner here, as they by them∣selves formerly. The Warrant being Signed for their Execution, and the day appointed, (there being no hopes of a Pardon, having already despised and abused that Grace and Favour) they are acquainted therewith in order to their Preparation, to undergo the deserved and unavoidable Punishment of the Law, Death. The Fatal Morn∣ing appearing, they are made ready for their last Journey, to their long Home, and so disgracefully Carted to Tyburn; where by the way, being as notoriously known, as they were no∣torious

in the Transactions of their Life; some (who have Charity) pity them, many (who have suffered upon their account) Curse them, and most blame them. This is a hopeful Com∣fort of the Tye of Marriage, which brings them at last to be Tyed up by Ketch, both indissoluble Knots, except untied by the cold hand of Death. Thus you see tho the Sun-shine of the for∣mer part of their Life seem'd to be possibly glorious, 'twas at length over∣cast, and tho they might have liv'd happily, did in the latter part live wretchedly, and died ignominiously, so they might say of themselves, as the Poet did, with little Alteration—

Per varios casus, & tot discrimina rerum Tendimus in Laqueum—

Thus, with them, ends the Seven∣teenth Comfort.

The Eighteenth COMFORT. The Misery of forc'd Marriage

NOW (with this which is the last, and too many, unless they were better) we shall run through a petty Jury, and a half, of Pretty and petty Comforts too, tho this exceeds all that is premention'd, and may afford some Diversion, but far more Admiration and Astonishment. The Story is as followeth, which wants neither Truth, nor Au∣thentic Authors to maintain it. A Gal∣lant and Heroic Gentleman, altogether Martial, a Noted Commander, and of a very Ancient Extract; it was his good Fortune, as he innocently and probably conjectured, to make his Addresses to a Young Beautiful Gentlewoman, (but see how that Fickle Baggage Fortune puts tricks upon Credulous Mortals) and after they had made and received several Visits, and so united themselves by the Amorous Chains of Passionate and Unfeigned Affection, that they thought nothing but that Cruel Destiny Atropos could separate them. But it fell out, and

very unluckily too) that the Ladies Pa∣rents, (whose Eyes are always prying into such Intrigues) by some means and rewards to encourage the Discoverers, to prevent their design, shuffled up a Match between their Daughter and a very great Heir, with Menaces, Threats, severe Usage, so that weary of their Car∣riage towards her, she was at last com∣pell'd, tho with unimaginable regret, and great reluctancy, to embrace the Person she had an absolute indisposition, unfitness of mind, and aversion for, ever likely to hinder the many Bene∣fits of Conjugal Society, namely, Peace and Comfort; but it is Decreed by a Law as unalterable as that of the Mede•• and Persians, that she must undergo thi•• insupportable weariness. The Gen∣tleman, who in truth was, or at leas•• ought to be her Husband, endeavours to make way for an Interview with her, bu•• finding all means ineffectual (she be¦ing so closely mew'd up, (another Com¦fort of Forced Marriage) by her Eagle-ey'd and Jealous Husband, insomuc•• that nothing could be transacted, bu•• he must necessarily find out, for Zelo¦typiae nihil impervium, Jealousie is to •• quick-sighted to be disappointed by a¦ny

endeavours whatsoever, whereupon he resolves to take other measures, and therefore in great discontent (see∣ing he could not possibly procure the sight of the so much admired and be∣loved) he quits his Native Country to Travel in quest of some Comfort in Fo∣reign Parts: We will now leave him in his Journey, and return to see how this new Married Lady bears her Affliction. She poor Inamorata, tho disappointed of enjoying the Sole Object of her Love, (what a cursed Humour is this of Pa∣rents, for a cram'd Coffer to confine them to the Land of Affliction?) cannot be debarred the Privilege of thought, and therefore to manage that with the grea∣ter Prudence and Privacy, she affects Retirement, and there bewailes her Misfortune in the enjoying this man, as well as in the utter Loss of her absent Lover (which prov'd too true at last, to her own destruction) thinks hourly of the blissful and harmless Embraces of her Valiant Mars, the mutual and inno∣cent Protestations that passed between them at every assignation, the Poems, Acrostics, Anagrams, and the whole Artillery of Love, that they used between one

another. This was her sole delight, her da∣ly pleasure, and all the contentation that she ever enjoy'd in her Matrimonial (tho unfortunate) Condition: and tho all these private Solaces were shrowded with all Honest and Modest Contrivances, yet her Carriage to her Husband did not seem so obliging to him, as he thought he might deserve, and therefore could impute it to nothing but unto the sudden disappointment of the Gentleman, who formerly Courted; who would certainly have studied to procure his Destruction by some means or other, but that he knew he had deserted the country, and went a way Incognito, so that there was no great Fear or Probability of his coming to caress his Lady; but alas! he is mistaken; for his End is by superiour Power otherwise appointed. And now let us return to our Traveller; when he arrived at the place, there happened to be War in those parts, who being Magnanimous and Martial, (having lost his Lady, scorn'd his Life) he went immediately into the Wars, and was entertain'd according to his Desert and Quality; the Enemy being near at hand, he accoutred himself for an Attaque, which he did attempt with that Briskness and

Valour (among those in the Front) that no∣thing but one stimulated by Love, and a Contempt of his Life and Person, could ever have so valiantly performed; but behold the unlucky Chance of War! He in this over-Manful Assault, received a Mortal Wound, to the great grief of those who were spectators of his Valour and Courage, whereupon he was imme∣diately brought off, and convey'd to his own Lodgings; where arrived, he languished some little time, and a little before his Death, he called an Ancient Servant to him (whose Fidelity and Truth he had often experienced) and told him, that he had, at this juncture of time, a weighty Business to unbo∣some to him, and intrust him with, conjuring him by all imaginable, ob∣liging Expressions and Desires to see it effected, which was as followeth: I am sensible (saith he) that I am very near my Expiration, and therefore after my Death, procure some Chyrur∣geons to open my Body, take the Heart out of my Breast, and put it into an Earthen-Pot, that it may be Baked to the consistence of a Fine Powder, and having so done, put it into a handsome Box with this Bracelet of Hair, that he

had worn about his Left Wrist (being a Lock of his Lady before mentioned) then place it in the Powder, together with this little Billet or Note, written with my own Blood to her, and after you have bestowed upon me the Rites of a Decent and Christian Burial, make all possible speed to her in her own Country, (which you know very well as well as her place of Residence) and deliver the said Box to her own hands. The Old, True Servant, did perform all that his Master had given him i•• Command, and so departed; arriving with great Expedition, at the Country and Place designed by his Master; and coming one day to her House, he un∣luckily, tho unexpectedly was surprise•• by the Ladies Husband, who knew hi•• very well, and that he was Servan to that Gentleman who formerly mad•• Applications to his Lady; and he exa∣mined him with a Brow-beating severi∣ty, and finding him timorous, and he sitating in his Discourse and Repli•…•… made no more ado but ransackt hi•• and found the forementioned Box i•• his Pocket, with the Note, which sp••∣cified what was contained in it; h•• Husband upon this dismist the Ag••

Servant with Menaces, charging him never more to approach his House upon his own peril, and so the poor Servant departed reinfecta, and his Master's Commands uneffected, tho' by Mis∣fortune (as he thought certainly) diso∣bey'd. The Gentleman thereupon speedi∣ly reenters his House, sends for his Cook, and delivers him the Pouder, and with∣al charging him to make some small savoury Dish of it, without losing the least particle of it, upon the forfeiture of his absolute displeasure, because it was a very costly Cordial, and com∣manded him to bring it in himself after the last Course at Supper; and the Cook did so accordingly: as soon as it was placed on the Table, he orde∣red all Persons to quit the Room, which was no sooner said than done; and so began to enter into a most serious Discourse with his Wife; how that ever since his Marriage, he observed her Dejected, Melancholick Carriage, and he did very much fear, that it was oc∣casion'd by some inward Consumption, therefore he had made provision of a very Sovereign Remedy, which he was very well satisfied would cure her infallibly; thereupon he made her eat

it all up, and when she had so done in obedience to him, very earnestly im∣portun'd him to discover what it was, who told her for satisfaction at last, that she had eaten her first Courtiers Heart, so drew the Box out of his Poc∣ket, and shew'd her the Note and Bracelet, at which in a suddain Tran∣sportation, usher'd with a deep sigh, said, This is Precious indeed, and lickt the Dish clean, saying, it is so Precious, that 'tis pity any other Meat should be taken down after it; thus she went to Bed, and made good her words; for in the Morning she was found Stone-dead.

Now I presume you are satisfied with the strangeness of this unparallel'd Comfort, the mere effect of a Com∣pulsive Marriage against Reason, Sense and nature, to the Ruine of their own Daughter, and the Death of a Worthy and Valiant Gentleman, tho both to be commended as much for their Fide∣lity and Constancy, as the Parent were to be blamed for their Violence and Covetousness, tho she had at last the two Hearts joyned together, in∣spight of Father and Fate, yet upon my Heart I cannot away with this kind o•• Cannibal-like and Unnatural Conjuncti∣on.

Thus we have done with these Eigh∣teen Comforts of Matrimony; and I call them Comforts, because those that are Married think them so, and will not be perswaded to the contrary, tho I look up∣on them as the worst of Misfortunes. I do not, nay I dare not say, that every Married Man tastes of all these Com∣forts; But I will affirm this for truth, that there is no wedded Person living, how Wise and Cautelous soever, but is sensible, at the least, of one of these Comforts. Nor on the other hand do I say it is ill done to Marry; but it is not well done certainly, for a man to be so Stupid and Insensible, as those we here Discourse of apparently declare themselves to be, and so are enslaved with a self-procured Bondage. I would not willingly disoblige the Fe∣male Sex, nor indeed do I, if read without Prejudice, and rightly under∣stood, the Contents of this Treatise, ten∣ding much to their Honour and Com∣mendation, in all which Rencounters the Women win the day, come off Triumphantly, and Man is most shame∣fully worsted by the weaker Sex: and 'tis but reason it should be so, conside∣ring

the Wrongs that they suffer by the Oppression and Severity of their Husbands, by Violence, and without Reason; only because they are not of so Robustous Constitution, and are sent into the World with no other Weapon but the Tongue, nor any other De∣fence but their Chastity, tho daily ex∣posed to the crafty Assaults of Wily Man: Nature having sent them so weakly Arm'd into the World, it is a prodigious shame, that Men should so barbarously insult over them, who are so ready to serve and obey, without whose Society the World would soon be a Desart, nay Men could not, did not, nor cannot live happily.

FINIS.