The Merry Cuckold.  
Who frolickly taking what chance doth befall,  
Is very well pleased with Wife, Horns and all.  
To the tune of, The merry Cuckold.  
 

You married men  
whom Fate hath assigned,  
To marry with them  
that are too much kind,  
Learn as I do,  
to bear with your wives,  
All you that do so,  
shall live merry lives.   

I have a Wife  
so wanton and so free,  
That she as her life,  
loves one besides me,  
What if she do,  
I care not a pin,  
Abroad I will go,  
when my rival comes in.   

I can be merry  
and drink away care,  
With Claret and Sherry  
and delicate fare.  
My Wife has a Trade,  
that will maintain me,  
What though it be said,  
that a Cuckold I be.   

While she at home  
is taking her pleasure,  
Abroad I do room,  
consuming her treasure.  
Of all that she gets.  
I share a good share,  
She pays all my debts,  
then for what should I care.   

She keeps me brave,  
and gallant in clothing,  
All things I have,  
I do want for nothing.  
Therefore I connive,  
and wink at her faults,  
And daily I strive,  
against jealous assaults   

While for small gains:  
my neighbours work hard,  
I live (by her means)  
and never regard.  
The troubles and cares,  
that belong to this life,  
I spend what few dares:  
gramercy good Wife.   

Should I be jealous,  
as other men are,  
My breath like to bellowes,  
the fire of care  
Would blow and augment,  
therefore I think it best,  
To be well content,  
though I were Vulcan's crest.   

Many a time  
upbraided I am,  
Some say I must dine,  
at the Bull or the Ram:  
Those that do jeer  
cannot do as I may,  
In Wine, Ale and Beer,  
spend a noble a ●ap.   

The Second part. To the same Tune.  
 
 

I By experience,  
rightly do know:  
That no strife or variance,  
(causes of woe)  
Can make a wife  
so bend to live chaste,  
Thou in stead of strife,  
let patience be placed,   

If a man had  
all Argus his eyes,  
A wife that is bad,  
will something devose,  
To gull him to's face,  
than what boors mistrust,  
The horns to disgrace,  
though wear it I must,   

I'll be consent  
with this my hard chance,  
And in merriment  
my head I'll advance.  
Wishing I were  
but as rich as some men,  
Whose wives chaste appear,  
yet they'll kiss now and then.   

One trying to me,  
a great comfort is,  
Still quiet is she.  
though I do amiss,  
She dares do no other,  
because she knows well,  
That gently I smother,  
what most men would tell.   

If I should rave,  
her mind would not alter  
Her swing she will have.  
though't be in a halter.  
Then sith that I get  
good gains by her vice,  
I will not her let,  
but take share of the price.   

Why should I vex,  
and pine in despair,  
I know that her sex,  
are all brittle ware,  
And he that gets one  
who canstant abides,  
Obtains that which none,  
or but few have beside.   

Yet will I not,  
accuse my wife,  
For nothing is got,  
by railing, but strife.  
I act mine own sense.  
intending no wrong,  
No Cuckold nor Quean  
will care for this song.   

But a merry Wife,  
that's honest I know it,  
As dear as her life,  
will sure love the Poet:  
And he that's no Cuckold  
in Country or City,  
However if luck hold,  
will buy this our Ditty.    
FINIS.   

Printed by the Assigns of Thomas symcock.