FORTUNE's BOUNTY: OR, AN Everlasting Purse FOR THE Greatest Cuckold in the Kingdom.
LONDON, Printed; and are to be Sold by B. Bragge, at the Blue-Ball in Ave-Mary-Lane.
FORTUNE'S BOUNTY: OR, AN Everlasting Purse FOR THE Greatest Cuckold in the Kingdom.
IN wicked Times, when wanton Wives
Led injur'd Husbands wretched Lives,
Blind Fortune in a gen'rous Mood,
Resolv'd to do some Cuckold Good;
But being a purblind Female Creature,
And of a fickle wav'ring Nature,
She could not readily agree
What the kind Benefit should be,
Or, who have Title to receive
The Noble Prize she meant to give.
Thus puzzled as she Musing sat,
Confounded quite 'twixt, who and what:
At last remembr'ing t'was a fau't
To do great things with little thought,
She to some lonely Cloud retir'd
To Think, as Matters well requir'd.
The Wise use great deliberation,
E'er they bestow a large Donation.
Lord May'rs are seldom over speedy
In building Alms-Huts for the Needy;
But take seven Years Consideration,
About the Pious Works Foundation;
Nay little Benefits we find
Come slow, when done with half a Mind.
The Saint will Fumble near an Hour,
And have some Witness by before
He'll give his Farthing to the Poor;
That they may praise the Nigards Bounty,
And blaze the Wonder thro' the County,
But Fortune after some confusion,
Came in short time to a conclusion,
And made this following resolution.
Which was, that e'ery Marry'd Noddy,
Tongue Leas'd and Govern'd by his Dowdy,
Tormented with eternal Clamour,
More noisie than a Pewt'rer's Hammer;
And every peevish tortur'd Spouse
That wears his Corns upon his Brows,
And raves to think he cannot mend
The failings of his Wife's low'r end:
Also the Patient and the Wise
Who smother all their Injuries
Committed 'twixt Adult'rous Thighs,
And kindly Father without fretting,
A Brood of G—d knows whose begetting.
These Fortune had resolv'd to Summon,
But each t'appear without his Woman;
Least Female Tongues should spoil the sport,
And make the Crowd turn Dover-Court.
Her Edicts sign'd with her own Name
Were scatter'd all abroad by Fame,
Declaring what she had design'd
For the most Wretched of Mankind:
As to the place of Rendezvous,
For every Horn'd unhappy Spouse,
She Bearing Cuckoldom in Mind,
Guild-Hall was by the Dame assign'd
Most fit above all other places,
For Cucks and Cots to shew their Faces.
The merry time at last drew near,
On which the Bucks were to appear;
Dame Fortune at the hour appointed,
Attir'd like any Lord's Annointed,
In Robes of a Camelian Dye,
That chang'd in the twinkling of an Eye;
Was sometimes Red, and sometimes Blue,
But alter'd still to something new;
Showing by Colours variation
Women are subject to mutation.
Yet notwithstanding of their ranging,
They always are the same, that's changing;
A pair of Horns of wondrous size,
All Gold to dazle Humane Eye;,
Made full of Antlers Buds and Sprouts,
In Foster-Lane or there abouts,
By some, if Folks don't falsly Jear 'em
That have no little Right to wear 'em;
Were carried on a lofty Pole
Before Queen Fortune to the Hall,
Just as his Custard Cap does bear
The Sword before the City May'r;
In mighty Pomp she past along
Attended with abnumerous Throng,
Gather'd together by degrees,
From th' Four and Twenty Companies.
At last into the Hall she came,
Where all paid Rev [...]rence to the Dame.
She gaz'd around, and as they Bow'd
To th' Horns, she Curt'si'd to the Crowd.
At last it pleased her fickle Grace.
To find her Jilting Bum a place:
The Court of Conscience being clear
Of Business, she Ascended there;
And on the Bench, O fy upon her!
She clapt her Tail, that is, her Honour.
For Female Honour you must know
Is humbly seated very low;
Therefore high Conscientious Places
Do not become a nunquam satis.
However, there the Gipsy staid,
And sat as modest as a Maid;
With her huge Gilded Mace before her,
Which caus'd the Cuckolds to adore her.
Thus seated on the Bench alone,
Like Playhouse Queen on slit-deal Throne:
Such Crowds came staring in and gaping,
Even from Westminster and Wapping,
That sure the Hall was ne'er more full
Of City Stags at Sheriffs Poll.
Vintners and Vict'lers flock'd in shoals,
Made graceful by their flowing Bowls;
Whose Heads became the noble Crest,
So far exceeding all the rest,
That the whole Herd aloud cry'd out,
They never ought t' appear without.
Lawyers in Droves flow'd in as fast
As if the Term had not been past,
But hid their Horns beneath their Gowns,
And so incur'd Dame Fortune's Frowns;
But rather than they'd spoil the Jest,
At last they wore them like the rest,
Which made the Black-Rob'd Tribe appear
Like Oxen driving to a Fair;
However they resolv'd to try
For Fortune's Favour by and by,
Well knowing that their Wedded Evils
Had Tails like Goats, and Tongues like Devils,
And that they'd all the Plagues of Life
That Man could meet with in a Wife.
Our Teachers too their Horns exalting,
Some young and brisk, some old and haulting;
Flow'd in from ev'ry part o'th' Nation,
As thick as at a Visitation;
All fill'd with hopes, and well prepared,
To shew what cursed Shrews they'd Marry'd.
The angry Crowd, in great disdain,
Cry'd out the Clergy of all Men
Shou'd not b'admitted to complain,
Because their Function were the first
That made us Mortals thus accurs'd,
And that they punish'd Fornication,
And brought D—n'd Wedlock into fashion.
But Fortune minding not the Crowd,
Most humbly to the Clergy bow'd,
And told them (tho' she ne'er design'd it)
She'd be their Friend, and they should find it.
They thank'd her for the Grace she'd done 'em,
But found 't was but a Jest upon 'em.
In numbers flock'd Phisicians too,
Who knew not how to tame a Shrew,
Or cure for th' ease of their own Lives,
The Falling Evil in their Wives;
Who when their Frensies were upon 'em,
And on their backs their Fits had thrown 'em,
They could not rise, least Folks bely 'em,
Whilst any Man was standing by 'em;
But heave and pant, and wink and pink,
And breath so short that one would think
Who did but see their Freaks transacted
That they were Dying or Distracted.
Besides the swarms I mention here,
All sorts of Traders did appear;
For no degrees of Men can be
From Cuckoldom and Av'rice free;
Therefore most Husbands had pretence
To Fortune's kind Benevolence.
The Hall was crowded in a Minute,
That not one more cou'd squeeze within it.
Then Fortune, loud as she could bawl,
Commanded Silence in the Hall;
And rising up, from off her Breech,
She standing made this gen'rous Speech.
My Lords and Genrry that appear
According to my Summons here,
I'm hither come, with Joy to meet ye,
And with sincere Affection great ye,
I must confess, your good alone
'Twas brought me hither, not my own,
And you shall always surely find,
(Tho' some, perhaps, are so unkind,
To think me of a fickle Mind.)
My Heart not Foreign, but Domestick;
Not Popish, but Ecclesiastick.
With that the Churchmen standing ready,
Bow'd low and cry'd, Your Servant Lady.
Hoping by this their good Behaviour,
To win the Dame and curry Favour;
But they, alas, were at a loss,
In thinking to her Love ingross;
For Fortune's kindness wa'n't exprest
To them alone, but all the rest:
After some pause she thus again
Began, and made the Matter plain:
All you that bear the heavy Curse
Of, The Grey Mare the better Horse;
Or wear the Failings of your Spouses,
A small degree above your Noses,
Let ev'ry one his Grievance show,
That I the naked Truth may know.
And he who is in Wedlock join'd
To the worst plague of Woman-kind,
And leads the most confounded Life
That e'er did Man with hellish Wife;
Let her be either Young or Old,
Fair, Homely, Sluttish, Whore, or Scold;
Or he be Churchman or Dissenter,
A Trimmer, Puritan, or Ranter;
Or neither Whig, or yet a Tory,
But does in Moderation glory;
Let him be Libertine or Saint,
So that he's but a Protestant,
And he alone, to ease his Curse,
Shall have a neverfailing Purse;
Besides this forked golden Prize,
Of such a large and ample size
That 'twill adorn and grace the Hall
Of the best Noble of you all;
Therefore disclose the wretched Lives
You bear with your unruly Wives,
That I may judge among you all,
On whom my Bounty ought to fall.
The Dons and Coms could not agree
At first about Precedency;
But such Debates and Feuds arose,
As if their Words would end in Blows;
Each pelting each with all their Lyes
Their Heat and Malice could devise:
Wise Men stood by and shook their Noddles,
To hear their Betters such Tom-doodles;
Whilst all the dull unthinking Rabble,
Seem'd much delighted with the Squabble;
And thereupon the Fools devided,
And with the diff'ring Parties sided;
Some for the Dons declar'd their Zeal,
Some for the Coms were Tooth and Nail;
Bad Words were scarter'd at no rate,
The Hall was turn'd to Billingegate
And every Blockhead in the Crew,
Espous'd one Party of the two,
Tho' very few could tell for whi [...]
They roar'd down this, or cry'd up that.
But since ill Men had made a [...]
They would be of one side or other.
Just so it is in Hookley Hole
When Rose and Brindle fight the Bult:
Some on the Dogs will set their Heart,
Some take the horned Champion's part.
When thus dispos'd, the Rabble-Rout
Soon find occasion to fall out:
Then Fools and Dogs and Bulls and Bears,
Fall all together by the Ears,
Whilst wiser Men securely sit,
And overlook the wrangling Pit,
Keep silent Tongues, no Party take,
But view the Sport the Puppies make.
The Feud grew higher still and higher,
For Knaves and Fools encreas'd the Fire,
Poets and Scriblers watch'd their Waters,
And ply'd them with Lampoons and Satyrs,
Each drew his Pen in Rhime or Prose,
To serve his Friends or scourge his Foes,
Whose Follies yet were never shown
Apart, without the Author's own.
Which did to Men of Judgment's view,
Seem always greatest of the two.
However, rather than conceal
Their Faults, they would their own reveal.
The Reason's plain, for you must know it's
The Talent of our modern Poets,
With stupid Malice to delight ye,
Because the Jarring envious City,
Will not be pleas'd with what is Witty.
Thus Libels publickly were cry'd,
And flew about from side to side,
The common People to incense,
And aggravate the difference.
Dame Fortune, with her purblind Eyes,
Beholding such a Storm arise,
Grew Jealous that some Ill was meant,
To interupt her good Intent;
Therefore in hopes to heal the Breach,
She made this reconciling Speech.
My Dons and Coms I'm much perplex'd,
To see your Gravities thus vex'd;
And that the hopes of my poor Favour,
Should make you use this strange behaviour;
What tho' I can bestow upon you,
A never failing Flux of money,
And as I'm Fortune, am the Donor,
Of Plenty, Power, Wealth, and Honour;
Yet since to my great Grief I find,
Such Av'rice reigning in each Mind,
All you that hope to gain the Prize,
By spreading Calumnies and Lies,
And Rave and Quarrel so about it,
Upon my word shall Go without it,
For shame let me no more behold,
Such mighty Men contend for Gold,
After so turbulent a fashion,
That makes you Odious to the Nation;
For tho' you'd fain perswade the Crowd,
You squabble for the publick Good,
Yet to all wisemen it appears,
That Int'rest sets you by the Ears,
Therefore I beg that for the future,
You will not make this shameful Clutter,
Or widen such injurious Breaches
About priority of Speeches,
Since 'twill b'expected by the rest
He that speaks least, should speak the best;
Therefore, as you have often seen
At Crowning of a King or Queen,
The lowest Rank do first appear,
And leave the highest in the Rear;
So the same Mode they use in Walking
I hope you will observe in Talking.
Therefore proceed as I direct,
And you shall find I'll not neglect
To do that Justice you expect.
This Speech (although there's little in it)
Made them good Friends in half a minute;
That all cry'd out in voce una,
God save the mighty Queen Fortuna.
The whole Assembly being pleased,
And all their Heats and Feuds appeased,
A Fleet-street Vintner in the Crowd,
Open'd his Case, but first he Bow'd.
Madam, says he, upon my Life
I've got the Devil of a Wife;
She's Lustful, Ugly, and she's Old,
And besides these, a Cursed Scold,
Her Crabbed Looks, the Parish knows it,
Will turn new Milk into a Posset.
When I am kind she's still so base,
Her Eyes dash Verjuice in my Face,
Nay, Pepper dwells upon her Tongue,
Which she shakes o'er me all day long;
No Smithfield Cook sure e'er abus'd,
Or us'd Roast-Beef as I am us'd;
Besides, I can with safety swear
The Jade confounds me every Year
A Hundred Pounds more than is fitting
In Dainty Bits for her own Eating;
And Drinks, I may with Justice say,
Two Quarts of Palm Wine every day;
But that which I resent most ill,
And is of all the bitterest Pill
When she's got Drunk, the Whore of Whores
Turns up her Honour to my Drawers,
And picks my Pocket of my Pelf,
To make them Richer than my self.
With that he Sigh'd, and wip'd his Eyes,
And cry'd he hop'd such Miseries
Might give him Title to the Prize.
When this his sad Complaint was heard,
All the Blue Squadron gap'd and star'd,
And tho' the major party had
Such Wives that were profusely Bad;
Yet none cou'd say he had a worse,
So every one conceal'd his Curse,
Sneak'd off their Horns, as prudence bid 'em,
And underneath their Aprons hid 'em,
Believing their Cornuted Brother
Must bear the Bell from all the other.
Next him a Doctor of the Body,
A mighty Spruce Cornutede Noddy,
Advanc'd and humbly did beseech
Dame Fortune to observe his Speech.
Madam, says he, upon my Honour
I have a Spouse, a Pox upon her,
So Lustful, that I'm sure her Tail is
As hot as Lapis Infernalis.
'Tis troubled with a Wolfish Evil,
And eats Raw Flesh like any Devil,
Gobbles up Handfuls at a time,
Yet thinks the Gluttony no Crime.
Tho' I must needs confess 'tis true
It has no Teeth and cannot Chew;
Yet will it mumble it so about
'Till it has suck'd the Goodness out,
And that small Cud which does remain
It Spits as Nauseous out again;
Yet raves the next succeeding Minute
For more, as if the Devil was in it.
I Feed the Vulture all I can,
But tis too much for one poor Man.
It therefore will have change of Diet,
Yet all wo'nt keep the Monster quiet;
And if these Plagues deserve no Favour,
Old Nick take Wife and Prize together.
The rest of th' Aesculapian Grew
At this course Plea look'd very blue;
They all expecting to have heard
A Speech becoming of a Bard.
Some hem'd and haw'd, whilst others vex'd,
And no one car'd to venture next.
A cunning Fox of great renown,
Wrap'd up in Legislative Gown,
Finding the Quacks were not agreed
About what Brother shou'd succeed,
Steping 'twixt Fortune and the Crowd,
Cly'd, Madam, by your leave, and Bow'd;
Then upright as an Arrow stood,
Stuck Thumbs i'th' Wast-band of his Breeches,
And baulk'd the Doctors of their Speeches.
Madam, says he (and looks upon her)
I'm much beholding to your Honour,
For I must needs confess in Truth
I've been your Favourite from my Youth;
Yet tho' I'm now so highly mounted,
And have at Westminster been counted
So Just and Wise thro' all my Life,
I'm almost Gally'd with a Wife.
What tho' I'm learn'd in every Cause,
And long have doated on the Laws,
Yet could I never find out one
To make the Gipsy hold her Tongue,
An Age I've Pleaded at the Bar
And am no puny Orator,
Yet tho' she's Old, my Jangling Gillian
Will still out-Talk me by a Million,
And for one Word I Speak, she musters
Whole Troops, and pelts my Ears by clusters.
Therefore kind Lady Fair, crys he,
I hope to ease my Misery.
You will to me the Purse impart,
For I love God with all my Heart.
Fortune reply'd she'd be his Friend,
And do him Justice in the end.
A Parson next of wondrous Note,
Betwixt a Polecat and a Stoate,
Advanc'd with very Sickly look,
Hem'd thrice, and thus to Fortune Spoke.
Madam, I come not here to Preach,
Or show my Elegance of Speech;
Nor shall I now maintain that Schism,
Which some Men call Socinianism:
Or teach you how a Man that's Crafty,
May take Oaths pro and con with safety.
In short I'm come to give you notice,
In verbo vero Sacerdotis;
That no poor Mortal of my Function
Was ever under more Compunction;
Not for my own Erroneous Life,
But for the Failings of my Wife,
Who has a Tongue that Squalls and Bawls
As loud as any Bell in Paul's.
At meals instead of Grace she'll sit
And scold before and after Meat,
Nay, find more seasons ev'ry day,
To rave than I can do to Pray;
And rants with such a taunting Air,
Adsnouns sh'would make a Parson swear.
Besides, as I'm a Priest and Sinner,
I dare not take a Friend to Dinner,
Or show that Love to a poor Brother,
We ought to bear to one another,
Least she, my good Intent to Cross,
Should give our meat such sower sauce,
That meeting with a Tongue so Evil,
My Friend should think me so uncivil,
To make him Mess-mate with the Devil.
Believe me 'twas alone her Tongue,
That aw'd my Conscience all along,
And made me such a wav'ring Priest,
That I became a Common Jest;
But who that's wedded to a scold,
Can blame me now the Truth is told?
For while Man's Man's so plagu'd and nettled?
How should his Conscience e'er be settled?
With that the Crowd both hiss'd and smil'd,
And all his quaint Oration Spoil'd,
Crying aloud since he had hung
His Faith upon so vile a Tongue,
They hop'd the Devil wou'd adapt her,
To plague him to the end o'th' Chapter.
Besides they cry'd, it was not fit,
That he who had so little Wit,
To let his Wives tempestuous Tongue
His Reason sway 'twixt Right and Wrong,
Should in a Pious Christian Nation
Be trusted with a Congregation,
And that the puny Wretch that knew
Not how to teach and tame a Shrew,
Must needs before his Wife Preach Booty,
And oft thro' Fear evade his Duty;
For how should he that has a Scold
Of's own, and dare not be so bold
To scourge her Failings any one day
Reclaim Five Hundred on a Sunday?
This Rub made all the Gown-men sneak,
Who found 'twas now in vain to Speak,
Touch'd with this close sarcastick Scoff,
They dop'd their Heads, and so slid off;
Renounc'd the Prize, and left the Hurry
Went some to Christen, some to Marry,
Some to Read Prayers, and some to Bury.
No sooner were the Black-birds Flown
But then the Mighty Dons came on,
Some smil'd and snicker'd unperplext,
Whilst others look'd disturb'd and vex'd;
Much Whisp'ring pass'd from Mouth to Ear,
About no Good a Man may Swear,
Because Don Quirk was busie there.
Projecting Snap stood listning by,
Seem'd sometimes free, and sometimes shy;
That's Wrong, says he, and will not Nick'em,
But this is Right, and there we'll Trick 'em.
Whilst they were thus Caballing got,
About the Lord knows who or what,
A bold Heroick Don well drest,
Stept slyly from amongst the rest,
And Whisper'd Fortune in her Ear,
But what he said no Man could hear;
Whether he spoke about his Wife,
Or self, I know not by my Life;
But Fortune seeming much surpris'd,
Yet pleas'd at what he advertis'd,
Cry'd out aloud, if that's thy Curse
I think thou well deserv'st the Purse,
It Justly to thy Lot does Fall,
Here, prethee take it Horns and all.
Madam, says he, it is great Pity
Of such a Prize to Rob the City;
So took the Purse, but was so kind,
To humbly leave the Mace behind.
FINIS.