A satire AGAINST MARRIAGE.  
O Demens! Ita servus homo est?  Juve. Sat. 6. 
LONDON: Printed in the Year, 1700.   

A satire AGAINST MARRIAGE.  

O Friend, Continue in your Rural Air,  
Nor Tempt our sultry Town, nor sullen Fair;  
Live happy in a Quiet Single Life,  
Hunt Foxes, Wolves, but eat the Marriage Strife:  
Trust me, no Game so Dangerous as a Wife.   

The Wretched Lover in all Forms I'll Show,  
In all the Scenes of Folly and of Woe,  
From the Land-Blockhead to the Empty Beau.  
I'll show you First the Lover and his Fair,  
I'll show them next a Miserable Pair;  
Conjured to one, a Double Helpless thing,  
By the strange Circle of a Wedding Ring.  
O eat that Circle, eat the dangerous ground,  
Keep far, far off, and make a Distant round;  
Scarce keep in sight, else  you are ware,  
You sink in Quicksands and in Poisonous Air,  
Plunged first in Love, than Marriage— then Despair.   

And now Young Man, for yet thy Years are Green,  
Consider what shall be from what has been.  
To the first Stage of Manhood just arrived,  
For now some Eighteen Summers you have Lived,  
Now is the Time to Powder and Perfume,  
And Court Young Players in the Tiring Room,  
To Sigh, to Languish, By't your Lips, and Tell  
Some little Flirt she acted Charming well.  
Thus does each Airy Fop his Courtship make,  
Till Cloes lost for some new Charmers sake;  
This new One all on sudden he admires,  
Yes, He adores her all in Flames and Fires,  
Says he's her Slave, and will her victim bleed,  
And if this Fustian with the Nymph succeed,  
He grows e'er long a very Slave indeed.  
He who might rove the Universe around,  
Is to the Arms of a Weak Woman Bound.  
Like Sun-dryed Reeds he Blazes and he burns,  
And the Advice of all acquaintance Scorns;  
Nor Tutor, Friend, nor Father can restrain  
The Fiery Youth, while Love Usurps the Reign;  
Like the Rash Phaethon, he firms his Aims,  
Resolved to Drive, tho' through Destructive Flames.  
Fancy's, while yet no Down o'reshade's his Face,  
Fancy's, he's Fit to propagate his Race.  
Fancy's, Love's Tide, which now so strongly Flows,  
No Ebb, no Change, no intermission knows.  
He Courts, Presents, and Seranades the Maid,  
And sends his Verses either Bought or made.  
Walks near her door with rueful downcast Mien,  
The Ass, the Lover, but no Man, is seen;  
His Friends avoids, and Loathes all Manly kind,  
For Love, the Worst Green-sickness of the Mind.  
O Love! O Cheat! O Couz'ner in thy Play,  
Too Dear a Prize for thy false Joys we pay,  
For Woman, for a Toy—  
We give our Hands, our Hearts, our very selves away.  
The Nymph now Gained, who was so hardly sought,  
Their Parents never can to Terms be brought,  
The Boy worth Nothing bed's a Bride worth Nought.   

Such was the Match when the Famed A— was bound  
To Painted G—  
He Charmed the Mall, the Ring, and all around  
Both Theatres, the Fair from him received their Wound  
No sparkling Ball, no Beavish Ground was free,  
But He was there, and was the Mighty Herald  
Now Searjeants' Dog him at Each Turn, and meet  
The Spark, who forced to bruise his tender Feet,  
Uucoached evades them o'er the stubborn Street.  
From Compter scaped, he flies, and meets at home,  
Poor Spouse and ragged Brats in an exalted Room;  
But Married, the poor Slave must be content,  
He sees his Doom and does in vain repent.   

Next comes the Fluttring-Fop with Dance and Song,  
And humms some Tune, to pass the Mall along.  
With airy Measures his gay Progress makes,  
And gently Coupees at each step he takes.  
Then out he draws his fancied Watch, and shows  
Time to a Minute to Companion Beaus,  
This draws out his, That his, and each compares,  
To try, if Time be pointed right in theirs.  
Vain Fops! Who squander Time, our dearest prize,  
Only in taking Notice how it flies.  
The Spark his Cane swings next with charming Grace,  
Viewing with careless Mein each beauteous Face,  
And thinks himself the Charmer of the Place.  
Now with a Haughty, sidelong Air he Walks,  
At once takes Snuff, and laughs aloud and Talks.  
With Fops like these Women are soon Alarmed,  
By Pride, superior to their own disarmed,  
The languish, sigh, and are with Folly Charmed.  
With Female Fools much talk and little Wit,  
Are the sure Darts that never fail to hit.  
Let him go on to spring his Female Game,  
False Fires Reflected shall give real Flame.  
Some Nymph, who much shall reputation boast,  
Which still she has, 'tis not known 'tis lost,  
To catch our Fop, pretends to nicest Rules,  
Fooled first herself, fit to make others Fools,  
Sets up for Fortune, Beauty, Wit and Youth,  
Blazed by her Creatures for a certain Truth.  
The Subtle, Close, Infectious, nimble Tales,  
Buzzed to some Friend who with the Fop prevails,  
Set him agog, and all on Fire he flies,  
Woos, Fawns, and Cringes, Swears ten Thousand Lies,  
He Loves, and he must Gain, or straight he dies.  
All in a Hurry is the Fop betrayed,  
Noosed in Spring-Garden in a Masquerade,  
No Man the Bridegroom, and the Bride no Maid.  
Straight spacious Lodgings for his Mate he takes,  
And she secures the Jointure which he makes;  
Her boasted Fortune, and her vast Estate,  
Prove all a Bubble, a mere Female Cheat.  
Hence Feuds and Strife get Birth; e'er long they part,  
And she, well practised in the Female Art,  
Sends him, (no matter who's) a Chopping Brat,  
Who, when he dies shall vaunt with his Estate,  
Spend what his Grandsues hoarded under ground.  
Laugh Hymen, Laugh, and Grin ye Satyrs round.  
How like you Frank, the Blessed Scene in View,  
Will any after this but Madmen Woe?   

But Grey M— shall with his Crutch have place,  
Tho' Wrinkles Seventy Years have Ploughed his Face,  
Of Silver Hairs the Scandal and Disgrace.  
He Shaves, he Powders, he Perfumes in vain,  
No Art can bring his Youth, his Strength again;  
In vain his Awkward apish Trick he Tries,  
His hollow Cheeks, and Wrinkles baffle all Disguise.  
Strange! that such Age, such right to folly claim,  
Strange! that when Seventy Years have made him tame,  
He should hold Cards, who cannot play the Game.  
But Marriage, like a Plague, Infection spreads,  
And Horns will often sprout on Silver Heads.  
Marriage is like the Rabble rout in Sweets,  
Where each Inquires the News of each he Meets,  
Those who are out thrust in the Press amain,  
Those who are in strive to get out again.  
Fixed, like Small Pox, is the Malignant knot,  
Or Young, or Old, few dye without the spot.   

But here comes one beyond the Fool in years.  
A Fool, who much a Greater Fool appears;  
One whom the Plague already had in wind,  
And left broad Blotches of P— s Rage behind.  
The Widower— who did the Seas explore,  
Was tossed by Wind and Waves, half wrecked before,  
Ventures again, and leaves the happy shore  
Strange that he should experience thus abuse,  
For he that Marries twice has no excuse.  
Why, when their Sisters did one Head deface,  
Should a new Hydra's Head supply the place?  
Thus Criminals, who ' scape the Law, perplexed,  
Rob when this Session ends, are hanged the next.   

Suppose, my friend, Fair Cloris was your Bride,  
And you all ravished lying by her side;  
Cloris! whom you so highly have admired,  
Whose dazzling Beauty your desires have fired.  
Whose single Glance your Reason could Control,  
And every Motion shake your wondering Soul.  
Imagine now your Cloris you had gained,  
And one Week past since you the Bliss obtained.  
Draw wide the Morning Curtains, and Expose  
The lovely Cheeks, the Lily and the Rose,  
You and your Wife permit me to behold,  
Your Wife!— O frightful! grown already Old?  
Where are those swelling Breasts, that charming Air?  
Sure, I mistake! this cannot be the Fair.  
No Paint adorns that Face, that Face is grown  
So Just, the homely Colour is its own.  
How far unlike that sparkling thing she lies;  
Her Lips discoloured, and unbeamed her Eyes.   

Now Frank, Reflect, Man, who was born to Rule,  
Sinks into Marriage, and comes up a Fool.  
None was e'er yet so happy in a Bride,  
But oft did wish the fatal knot untied.  
How is the Sense of Lordly Man displayed?  
We make them Idols, worship them when made,  
Disdaining Wit, and scorning Merit too,  
But love the fool, where they themselves may view;  
Where, by reflection, they the sight may gain  
Of something very Proud, and very vain.  
Think on the bawling Brats, the Plagues of Life,  
Think on them grown to Years of filial strife,  
Think, think— weigh Marriage well—  
Weigh but Light woman Just— up mounts in Air the Wife.  
Reflect, Consider what the word contains,  
Contagion, Noise, and Fury in it reigns.  
A Wife! confusion, scarce the D— d far worse,  
Than he that's wedded to the Female Curse.  
With Pride as Great as Lucifer Endued,  
And as famed Messalina monstrous Lewd.  
To endless Charges she allures her Spouse,  
And to say truth, she too keeps open House;  
The Husband's Guests, and only his in show,  
Her's too in secret;  they part shall Grow.  
Her Children flock the Careful Husband round,  
And Sires for all may in the Room be found.  
The Cuckold fond strokes the little Brood,  
And thinks them all his own pure Flesh and Blood,  
Brags of his Feats, and of the dear Delight,  
The Leering Mother Smiles, the Fathers Laugh outright.  
How like you Frank, the blessed Scene in View?  
Will any after this but Madmen Woe?  
Try some old Cits Gay Wife and find it true.   

In  Cheapside, not distant very far  
From a known Tavern with a Noisy Bar.  
Inquire the Famed C— and you shall find  
A Keeping Lady wondrous fair and kind.  
A G— s Wife too not far thence is known  
To give away more Jewels than her own.  
But if her Spouse, that poor Compliant thing.  
Whom honest Cuckoldom, to view must bring,  
That Fiend that's raised within the Nuptial Ring;  
Within his breast, worse than the pointed Steel,  
The stinging Pangs of Jealousy shall feel;  
Horror, Despair, and Rage, and Madness roll,  
And fire his Blood, and Poison all his Soul.  
With threats his Wife he charges with her Crime,  
And swears he knows the very place and Time.  
His Friends, grown here's, reproachfully Exclaim,  
Cry to the Husband— Barbarous! O for Shame,  
He Storms, and cries out— Cuckold— that's my Name.  
All Join against the Husband, none abuse  
The poor Good Wife, tho' Infamous as Stews,  
And may such fate attend all those that Noose.  
Backed by her Friends, who will her Fame maintain,  
And clear with Blood her false imagined stain,  
She Rails, and calls him, Scoundrel, sorry Slave,  
A Beggar, Wretch, till she her Fortunes Gave;  
Her Ample Fortune, Tenements and Lands,  
Made his that Fatal Hour that Joined their Hands.  
And now 〈◊〉 she turns, and Weeps, and then she Cries  
Is it for this Ingrateful Man—  
On my Unspotted Fame you fix such racking Lies?  
The Ninny melts, his boiling heart falls down,  
And his Horns sink within his Fronting Crown.  
Her Pettish Peevish Humours he must please,  
And Act the Fool a Hundred Thousand ways;  
Her Slave by Night, her very Ape by days.  
Thus the poor Dog with Bell, turns, shifts, goes round,  
That whom he leads may safely tread the Ground.  
Yet the poor Cur must oft for all his Care,  
Strokes undeserved and Furious Lashes Bear.  
So must the Husband, paid for all his Pains,  
Meet proud Insults, while she, the Tyrant Reigns,  
And holds him like a Fettered Dog in Chains.  
O Hymen, boast no more thou giv'st us Joy  
'Tis thou that dost all Human Peace destroy;  
Where e'er thou comest all Pleasures fly the Ground,  
And Killing Cares whirl a perpetual Round,  
While no dear Interval of Rest is found.  
The smothered Fire, now burning, all alarms,  
And the divided Household stand to Arms.  
But O, the Power of the Gaiety and Pride!  
The greater part march to the Female side.  
The House is in an Uproar, Thunder roars,  
And shakes the Chamber-Roofs, and jarring doors.  
They part— she leaves him struggling in the Net,  
He can't her Alimony fixed forget.  
But he must soon remember, and must pay  
Debts she contracted in her Female sway,  
For Presents, to her Lovers given away.  
What must this Wretched Husband do? what force,  
What Art can e'er pervail for a Divorce?  
When one, if we may Credit busy Fame,  
Of Goodly Aspect, Great in Bulk, and Name;  
Practised all Means, yet hardly gained his Cause,  
To prove himself the very thing he was.  
Strange Female Power!— even Logic ye confound,  
And Man can scarce, for what he is, be found.   

Remember Frank, (and let's forget the Strife  
The Noise, the Plague and Nonsense of a Wife)  
The true Delights of a blessed single Life.  
Your Days and Nights your own, you may Assign  
What time you please to Friends, and Moderate Wine.  
You happy Rural Sports you may renew,  
But never Come where Woman is in view.  
Woman! far more inconstant than the Wind,  
Woman! by Nature to all Ill Inclined,  
The sure destroyer of a peaceful Mind:  
False as the Sea, and as a Bubble Light,  
Our Sex's Plague by Day, our Curse by Night.  
Then Friend, with greatest Diligence take Care,  
Once Caught, there's no Redemption from the Snare.  
We find a Cure for other Ills of Life,  
But who can be Relieved that has a Wife?  
Mind not the Praising Husbands of the Town,  
Who, like the Fox in the Old Fable known,  
Warn all to Lop their Tails, when they have lost their own.   
FINIS.   

A Law against Cuckoldom, or the Trial of Adultery. Price 6 d,