My wife will be my Master. Or, The Married-man's Complaint against his unruly Wife.

The Tune is, A Taylor is a man.
AS I was walking forth of late,
I heard a Man complaining,
[...]ith that I drew me near to him,
[...] know the cause and meaning
[...] this his sorrow, pain and grief,
[...]ich bred him such disaster.
[...]s, quoth he, what sh [...]ll I do,
[...]y wife will be my Master.
[...]t if ever I am a Widower,
[...]d another wife do marry,
[...] [...]ean to keep her poor and bare,
[...]nd the purse I mean to carry.
[...]f I should give her forty pound,
within her apron [...]lding,
[...] longer then she's telling out,
her tongue would ne'r leave scolding,
[...] Eso [...]s Dog barkt at the Moon,
[...]king for to distast her,
[...] doth my wife scold without cause,
[...]nd strives to be my Master;
[...] if ever, &c.
VVere I so strong as Hercules,
or wiser then Apollo,
Or had I Icarus wings to flye,
my wife would after follow.
Or should I live as many years,
as ever did King Nestor,
Yet I do greatly stand in fear,
my wife would be my Master.
But if ever, &c.
I know no cause nor reason why,
that she with me should jangle,
I never gave her cause at all,
to make her with me wrangle;
I please her still in what I may,
and do no jot distast her,
Yet she doth strive both night and day,
always to be my Master,
But if ever I am a Widdower,
and another wife do marry.
I mean to keep her poor and bare,
and the purse I mean to carry.


My wife is my, &c.

I Every morning make a fire,
all which is done to ease her,
I get a Nutmeg, make a toast,
in hope therewith to please her;
Of a cup of nappy ale and spice,
of which she is first taster,
And yet this cros-grain'd quean will scold
and strive to be my master.
But if ever, &c.
I wash the dishes, wash the house,
I dress her wholsom dyet,
I humour her in every thing,
because I would be quiet:
Of every several dish of meat,
she'l surely be first taster,
And I am glad to pick the bones,
she is so much my master:
But if ever, &c.
Sometimes she'l sit while day gives light
in company with good fellows,
In Taverns and in bowsing kens,
or in some pimping Ale-house;
& when she comes home drunk at night,
though I do not distast her,
She'l fling she'l throw, she'l scratch and bite
and strive to be my Master.
But if ever, &c.
Her bed I make both soft and fine,
and put on shoos compleatly,
Her shoos and stockings I pull off,
and lay her down most neatly:
I cover her and keep her warm,
for fear I should distast her,
I hug her kindly in my arms,
yet still she'l be my master:
But if ever, &c.
And when I am with her in bed,
she doth not use me well sir,
She'l wring my nose, and pull my ears,
a pittiful case to tell sir:
And when I am with her in bed,
not meaning to molest her,
She'l kick me out at the beds feet,
and so become my master:
But if ever, &c.
And thus you hear how cruelly
my wife doth still abuse me;
At bed at board, at noon and night,
she always doth misuse me:
But if I were a lusty Man,
and able for to bast her,
Then would I surely use some means,
that she should not be my master.
But if ever, &c.
You Batchelors that sweethearts have,
when as you are a VVooing,
Be sure you look before you leap,
for fear of your undoing:
The after wit is not the best,
and he that weds in hast s;ir,
May like to me bewail his case,
if his wife do prove his Master:
But if ever, &c.
You Married Men that have good wives
I wish you deal well by them,
For they more precious are then gold,
if once you come to try them:
A good wife makes a husband glad,
then let him not distast her,
But a scold will make a Man run mad,
if once she proves his Master,
But if ever, &c.

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, I. Wright, and I. Clark.

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