A vindication of a marriage life: in answer to the Broadside against marriage. 1675 Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). B06445 Wing V464B Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.4[138] 99884998 ocm99884998 182807

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B06445) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 182807) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A4:2[139]) A vindication of a marriage life: in answer to the Broadside against marriage. 1 sheet ([1] p.). Printed for J.L.T. Ashfield, [London] : 1675. Verse: "THou dull insipid wretch, who could'st not choose ..." In answer to "A broad-side against marriage directed to that inconsiderable annimal, called, a husband.". Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Broad-side against marriage directed to that inconsiderable annimal, called, a husband. Marriage -- Poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2008-02 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-04 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-05 Sampled and proofread 2008-05 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A VINDICATION OF A Marriage Life: In Anſwer to the Broadſide againſt MARRIAGE. THou dull inſipid Wretch, who could'ſt not chooſe, An apter Theme for thy Prophaner Muſe: Thy limping Pegaſus though ſhod with Rime Flounders and halts ev'n in the ſecond Line. As if like Balaam's Aſs, he durſt not go His uſual Pace againſt A Godly Foe. Thou Mercinarieſt Rhymer of the Town, Thou Pimp to all Debauches for a Crown, Who for a Strumpet's Fee doſt thus diſpence. With breach of Laws of God and Conſcience. And rather then thy Luxury controul Wilt fell the noble Charter of thy Soul. Nay had the other poor half Crown bin giv'n, I dare to ſwear Th'adſt ſold thy claim to Heav'n! From the dull Poem we collect no more But only that thou art, A Son of a Whore The Harlots Champion and her part doſt take Becauſe thou lov'ſt her for thy Mothers ſake. And who can think him leſs who thus derides The holy Priviledges of happy Brides. Who cauſe himſelf's a Baſtard won't allow The bleſt effects of a conjugal Vow. So Thieves and Rogues who boaſt their own eſteem Would have ſhe honeſt, though as bad as them. And with loud Oaths applaud that very crime, For which perhaps they're hang'd another time, Which juſt deſerved Fate ſince 'tis his due; I wiſh may reach our Poetaſter too: Who by a long accuſtom'd trick of thieving Is the known Robber both of th' Dead and Living, When hir'd Verſe hath worn his fancy bare, His Brain as Empty as his Pockets are. Made deſperate through want, like ſome mad Lad, That's driven by neceſſity to Padd: He rifles all the Poets in the Town And what he rudely ſeizes, makes his own. No Play or Character, e're yet was Writ, But ſuffers by this High-way man of Wit, Who whe reſo e're he meets it bids it ſtand And quietly reſign at his Command. No wonder then if ſuch as he degrade The ſpotleſs pleaſures of a Marriage Bed; Whoſe In famous Progenitors ne're knew What honours to that happy 'ſtate is due; But ſtill ran on in an Inceſtious Line, And knew their Parentage no more than Swine, Thus I dare ſwear, Incorrigible Sot, Thou was't not got by any holy Plot; But as a hated Judgement didſt proceed To puniſh thoſe who did ſo ill a Deed. By thy own Parents Recon'd a miſhap VVhoſe Birth they dreaded worſer than A Clap. Thy Mother curſt thee in her very womb. And wiſh'd her belly might have been thy Tomb: So paſſionately mad ſhe was to ſee, That thou ſhoul'ſt ſpoil her 6 Months Letchery: What ſhall I ſay thou thing of low Eſtate! The longeſt Cur •• s too ſhort to reach thy Fate, To make compariſon 'twixt Hell and thee, Were but to complement thy miſery, And by ſo mild a ſimily to preſs, Too modeſt thoughts on thy unhappineſs. Enjoy thy ſelf, thy Royets and thy Wenches, Thy Pocky Pills, thy Dyet, Drink and Drenches; Commend thy Plaiſters, Scringes, and Fluxes, Apd ſwear there's no ſuch pleaſure as the Fox is; Thy ſnuffling Eloquence ſhall ne're diſſwade Me from the Pleaſures of my Nuptial Bed. Marriage tho Noble Center of the Mind, Wherein an Heaven we only quiet find: The even Calme of fifty pleaſant Years, Wherein no ſtorms but thoſe of love appears, And repetitions of our Chaſt delights, Which we like Gods enjoy without affrights, We run no hazards, but go to't with eaſe, Squenching our Souls, and leaving when we pleaſe.; Cloy'd with the pleaſures of the active Night, Our minds next day repeat the bleſt delight; Fluſh'd with ſweet kiſſes, our deſires move So high we drown our Duty in our Love. Marriage, the holy order which confines, Our ſtragliag faculties to good deſignes, That wiſe retreat which bids us take a View, Both of our ſelves, and of our fortunes too, Which buſie Youth could ne're abide to do A Wife! that ſweet divider of our cares! Doubles our joy and half our ſorrow ſhares: If angry Deſtiny our Fortune ſhakes, She ſmiles, and heals thoſe wounds which Fortune make: Sugar'd within humble Language, ſhe Calmly diverts our Growing miſery. In ſhort a Vertuous Wife's a good eſtate, And he who has her is ſecur'd by Fate, To Live in Credit, and be Fortunate.

Printed for J. L. T. Aſhfield. 1675