Advice to Bachelors, OR, The Married Man's Lamentation.  

Take heed you that unmarried are,  
how you do make your choice;  
But if a good Wife you do find,  
'twill make your heart rejoice,   
Tune of, hay Boys up go we; Busy Fame; Martellus; or, Jenny Gin.  
 

YOu Bachelors that single are,  
may lead a happy life;  
For married men are full of care,  
and Women oft breed strife:  
As by my late unhappy match,  
you here may plainly see;  
A loving Man and froward Wife  
will never well agree.   

Beauties a thing that wins men's hearts  
and reason so bewitches;  
That Men oft let the weaker sort,  
like fools, to wear the Breeches:  
And I myself too late lament  
my Apish foolery;  
For it I speak an hasty word,  
then, hay Boys, slap goes she.   

I in the morning up must get,  
or else there is no quiet;  
And get her some delicious bit,  
for she doth love good Diet:  
I ask her why she'is be profuse?  
she cries, what's that to me?  
And if another word I use,  
then hay Boys, slap goes she.   
 
 

She'll make me rise out of my Bid  
to let another in;  
And if I ask the reason why,  
a Quarrel doth begin;  
She'll haul me up and down the house,  
the like you ne'er bid see,  
I must be silent as a Mouse,  
or, hey Boys slap goes she,   

If I but for my breakfast ask,  
then doth she laugh and jeer;  
Perhaps give me a hard dry crust,  
and strong four-shilling Beer;  
She tells me that is good enough  
for such a Rogue as me;  
And if I do but seem to pout,  
then, hay Boys, slap goes she.   

She oftentimes doth tell me plain,  
that I do wear the Horns;  
Sure ev'ry Man doth this disdain,  
and wisemen merely scorns:  
But since 'tis my unhappy fate,  
how can it helped be?  
But it I chance thereof to prate,  
then, hay Boys, slap goes she.   

The Pots and Dishes I must wash,  
and scour the Irons too;  
Nay, and must wash the children's clouts  
believe me this is true:  
But those that did the Children get,  
should slave as well 〈…〉  
And if I chance to ver or fret,  
then, hay Boys, slap goes she.   

This is a strange and dismal life,  
that I poor Man do lead;  
And when I do consider well,  
it makes my heart to bleed:  
But if it goes against the grain,  
I must contented be;  
If in the least I do complain,  
then, hay Boys, slap goes she.   

Oh that I were a single Man,  
as I was heretofore;  
Or if I were a Widower,  
I ne'er would Marry more:  
For I do to my sorrow know,  
and to my grief I see,  
When she says I, and I say no,  
then hay Boys slap goes she.   

A thousand times I wish in vain,  
I ne'er had been begot;  
Then had I been a happy Man,  
now Cuckold, Fool, and Sot:  
But once again you Bachelors,  
take warning now by me:  
For 'tis a curse to be a Slave,  
and yet a Curkold be.   
FINIS.   

Printed for J. Deacon. at the Angel