The LONDON CUCKOLD:  
OR, An Ancient Citizen's Head well fitted with a Flourishing pair of Fashionable Horns, by his Buxom Young Wife, who was well Backed by a Coltish Spark, in the time of her Husband's Absence at the Campaign on Hounslow-Heath.  
Tune of, O Mother! Roger, etc.  
This may be Printed, R. P.  
 
 

A Tradesman hearing of the Story  
of the Army and Campaign.  
Longed for to behold the Glory  
and he went to view the same;  
On his Brown-bay Tit he got,  
And away does bravely troth,  
Left behind his witty Wife,  
Whom he loved as dear as life:  
But while my Tradesman took the Air,  
There came a Colt and Backed his Mare.   

It was a Gallant with white Feather,  
and a Coat with Golden Lace,  
Hearing of her Fame, came thither,  
and supplied her Husband's place:  
〈…〉 ttle thought the careless Man,  
Of the Game that then began,  
Thinking not to be beguned  
By his Wife so sweet and mild:  
But while the Tradesman took the Air,  
There came a Colt and Backed his Mare.   

When he came home she gave him kisses,  
and Sack-Posset very good,  
Caudles too, she never misses,  
for they warm and heat the Blood:  
Such things will create desire,  
And new kindle Cupid's Fire;  
These things made him kiss his Wife,  
And to call her Love and Life:  
But while (alas) he took the Air,  
A wanton Colt had Baced his Mare.   
 

The good man soon found something budding  
which did put him to great pain,  
And as he was eating Pudding,  
to his Wife he did complain:  
Wife, said he, I am not well,  
(What I ailed) I cannot tell  
But my Forehead feels like Bone,  
'Tis as hard as any Stone:  
By jove, quoth she, and this fair morn,  
Husband, Husband, 'tis a Horn.   

A Horn, quoth he, pray hold your prating,  
(for I vow you make me quake)  
If it be, 'tis of your making,  
O dear! how my Head deuce ak●:  
I am in a woeful case,  
Something, something sprouts apace.  
Love (said she) then know your doom,  
One lay with me in your Room;  
For while you Rid to take the Air,  
There came a Colt that Backed your Mare.   

The Deuce (quoth he) take ye for Witches,  
can't a Man Ride out a Mile,  
But some fellow with fine Breeches,  
must new Saddle you the while?  
Husband, Husband, for your joy,  
You shall have a thumping Boy;  
Come, come peace, and have more wit,  
Oh! I feel a qualmish Fit;  
I find, I find, I am with-Child,  
Pray my Dear, be kind and mild.   

With Child, d'ye say, (ye arrant Hussie.  
I ne'er got it, is it true?  
'Tis (quoth she) you were so busy,  
I was loath to trouble you:  
You love Business as your Life,  
But ne'er mind to kiss your Wife;  
You leave me to lie alone,  
All night long to sigh and moan:  
And therefore when you took the Air,  
There came a Colt and Backed your Mare.   

It was a Youth in Gaudy jacket,  
that appeared most brisk and fine,  
Kissed me, pressed me, b●az'd me Placker,  
made me blush like Claret-Wine:  
But at last I did obey,  
What young woman could say my?  
To this Gallants I did yield,  
And the Warrior won the Field;  
For while you (Husband) took the Air,  
This same Youngster Backed your Mare.   

Oh! let true Patience be my Balsam,  
since I know my wretched Fate,  
Prating like a Fool is sallome,  
silence cures the Horned Pate:  
Should I know my Trumpet out,  
I should raise the Rabble-rout,  
Have the Boys about my Ears,  
And endure their Flouts ● d ●eers:  
But for her easier i'll take c●re,  
That no young Colt shall Back my Mare.    

Printed for, I. Back, at the Bl●ck Boy 〈◊〉 London-Bridge, near the Drawbridge.