The Ill Fortune of a Younger Brother,
And I wish no Mans Fall by such another.
Here in this Song you may behold and find,
What plagues some men receive by women-kind;
And to be married young-mens fingers itches,
Although they loose their Doublet & Breeches.
To the Tune of, If I should marry a young VVife.
With Allowance.
DOwn in a Garden green,
as I abroad was walking;
Where I could not be seen,
I heard two Brothers talking;
Come prethy sit down by me,
and hear what I shall say:
Dear Brother now advise me.
For long time have I lived,
but loath I am to marry;
For fear of my ill chusing,
which makes me long to tarry:
For Widdows they are wearisome,
Maidens they be wanton;
'Tis very true, God mend 'am.
If I should marry a young Wife,
I hold it as a bliss;
If I should marry a middle-ag'd Wife,
I doubt she has been kist:
But if I marry an old Wife,
that store of moneys hath;
Oh, happy man then were I.
If I should marry a young Wife,
perhaps she's given to pride;
If I should marry a middle-ag'd wife,
perhaps she has been try'd:
If I should take an old wife,
she'l freeze by the fire side:
Both old and young attend me.
HOw goes it now dear Brother,
alas how do you fare;
Now you'r quite spoil'd in Marriage,
consum'd with grief and care:
Did not I give you warning,
when you bid me beware:
For all this would you marry.
How goes she in apparel,
delights she not in pride?
No more then birds on bushes,
down by the River side:
She sits triming in the Looking-glass,
and must not be deny'd,
A whole fore-noon together.
How goes she in her carriage,
does she not pout and lowre?
Oh the Devil is so busie in her,
she cannot hold an hour:
Canst thee not tame the Devi [...], I say?
O it lies not in my power:
For alas I cannot conjure.
If I go to an Ale-house,
she's there as soon as I:
And strait about my ears
the Pots and Flagons flye;
Then if I see her Cuckold me,
I durst it not deny:
Was ever man so crossed?
She calls me Sot and Logger-head,
and says I am a fool;
She keeps me in obedience,
more then a boy at School;
If I go to make water,
she has me by the Pole,
And scolds six hours after.
She lugs me by the ears,
and pulls me by the nose;
I stand and tremble so in fear,
till I befoul my Hose:
I am so sore I do declare,
with stripes that she me give,
I wish old Nick might fetch her.
No man by any Woman,
was made so much a sot,
In frosty mornings I must rise,
to do I know not what:
And if I do but snort a bed,
kicks do fall to my lot,
She is so much my Master.
You young-men all beware,
what Mate you chuse to Marry;
For if you han't a care,
like me you may miscarry;
For Widdows they be buckseme,
Maidens be false and wary,
I wish i'd not took any.
Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J Wright, and J. Clarke.