The cruel shrew: OR, The Patient man's Woe.  
Declaring the misery, and the great pain,  
By his unquiet wife he doth daily sustain.  
To the Tune of Cuckolds all arrow.  
 
 

COme bachelors and married men,  
and listen to my Song;  
And I will show you plainly then,  
the injury and wrong  
That constantly I do sustain,  
by the unhappy life,  
The which does put me to great pains,  
by my unquiet wife.   

She never linnes her bawling,  
her tongue it is so loud,  
But always she'll be railing,  
and will not be controlled:  
For she the Briches still will wear,  
although it breeds my strife,  
If I were now a bachelor,  
I'd never have a Wife.   

Sometime I give i'the morning,  
about my daily work.  
My wife she will be snorting,  
and in her bed shy'le lurk:  
Until the Chimes do go at Eight,  
then she'll begin to wake;  
Her morning's draught well spiced straight  
to clear her eyes she'll take.   

As soon as she is out of bed,  
her looking-glass she takes,  
So vainly is she daily led  
her morning's work she makes   

In putting on her brane attire,  
that fine and costly be.  
Whilst I work hard in dirt and mire,  
Alack what remedy.   

Then she goes forth a gossipping,  
amongst her own Comrades.  
And th●n she falls a-bowling,  
with her merry blades:  
When I come from my labour hard,  
then she'll begin to scold,  
And calls me Rogue without regard,  
which makes my heart ●ull cold.   

When I come home into my house,  
thinking to take my rest:  
Then she'll begin me to abuse,  
before she did but 〈◊〉:  
With out you rascal, you have been  
abroad to meet your whore:  
Then she takes up a Cudgels end,  
and breaks my head full sore.   

When I for quietness sake desire,  
my wife for to be still;  
She will not grant what I require,  
but swears she'll have her will:  
Then if I chance to heave my hand;  
straight way she'll murder cry:  
Then judge all men that here do stand,  
in what a case am I.   

The second Part,  
To the same Tune.  
 
 

ANd if a friend by chance me call,  
to drink a pot of beer;  
Then she'll begin to curse and brawl,  
and fight, and scratch, and tear:  
And swears unto my work she'll send  
me straight without delay,  
Or else with the same Cudgels end,  
She will me soundly pay.   

And if I chance to sit at meat,  
upon some holy day,  
She is so sullen she will not eat,  
but vex me ever and aye:  
She'll pout, and lour, and curse & ban,  
this is the weary life  
That I do lead, poor harmless man,  
with my most dogged wife.   

Then is not this a piteous cause,  
Let all men now it try,  
And give their verdicts by the laws,  
Between my wife and I,  
And judge the cause, who is to blame,  
I'll to their judgement stand,  
And be contented with the same,  
and put thereto my hand.   

If I abroad go anywhere,  
my business for to do,  
Then will my Wife a●o●e be there,  
for to increase my woe:  
Straight way she such a noise will make,  
with her most wicked tongue,  
That all her mates her part to take,  
about me soon will throng.   

Thus am I now tormented still,  
with my most cruel Wife,  
All through her wicked tongue so ill,  
I am weary of my life:   

I know not truly what to do,  
nor how myself to mend;  
This lingering life doth breed my woe,  
I would 'twere at an end   

O that some harmless honest man,  
whom Death did so befriend,  
To take his Wife from of his hand,  
his sorrows for to end:  
Would change with me to rid my care,  
and take my wife alive,  
For his Dead wife unto his share,  
Than I would hope to thrive.   

But so it likely will not be,  
that is the worst of all,  
For to increase my daily woe,  
and for to breed my fall.  
My wife is still most froward bent,  
such is my luckless fate,  
There is no man will be content,  
with my unhappy state.   

Thus to conclude and make an end,  
of these my Verses rude,  
I pray all wives for to amend,  
and with peace to be endued:  
Take warning all men by the life,  
that I sustained long,  
Be careful how you'll choose a Wife,  
and so I'll end my Song.   
FINIS.  
Arthur Halliarg.    

London, Printed by M. P. for Henry Gosson on London Bridge near the Gate.