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And in comes your gossips to prat and to chat,
Of this and of t'other, and no one knows what,
There's pratling and tatling until it be noon,
By which time your dinner ought to be done.
Fine clothes you are often wanting to buy,
Let me go as fine as my neighbours, you cry,
Still longing for every new fashion you see,
And till you have got it you'll ne'er easy be.
But if I find fault then your tongue it will run,
So fast, one would think 'twould never have done,
For if in your humour you're ever controul'd,
I am certain to hear a most damnable scold.
You rise when you will, lie down when you please,
Indulging yourself and still taking your ease,
Whilst mine is the labour, 'tis your's is the gain,
But I've nought but ill words & ill looks for my pains.
But if you're so saucy and puft up with pride,
You'll force me ere long to be banging your hide;
You need not to fear I shall pay off your score,
So pray wife take care and provoke me no more.
THE WIFE'S ANSWER.
SWeet husband I find you've done your discourse,
If I have these faults I'm ⟨sure⟩ you have worse,
To tell your wives' faults, to be sure you have none,
Yet none of you care to hear of your own:
And whatever failings in woman you see,
You shou'd mend in yourselves, it wou'd better be,
To show good examples to your poor wives,
Than lead us wretched and wearisome lives.
