The New Germane Doctor: OR, An Infallible Cure for a Scolding Wife: Performed by this most Excellent Operator, the like was never known in all Ages.  
To the Tune of, Here I love, there I love; or, The English Travellers.  
Licenced according to Order.  
 
 
 

YOu Men that are married, I pray now attend,  
Good tidings I bring you, this day as a Friend;  
It will be of use to all young Men and old,  
Whoever are troubled with Women that scold.   

A Doctor of late, from the Emperor's Court,  
A Person of dextrous Skill by report,  
Hath taken a Chamber in London of late,  
And cures scolding Wives at a wonderful rate.   

This Doctor has travelled all Poland and Spain,  
And now in Great-Britain he crossed the Main:  
To one Land and Nation he'll not be confined,  
But travels the World for the good of mankind.   

That Man that is plagued with a cross scolding Wife,  
Whose railing doth make him quite weary of Life;  
Pray what would be give for an absolute cure,  
Before such a terrible Life he'd endure?   

'Tis like every Morning when Daylight appears,  
She rings him a thundering Peal in his Ears;  
And makes him be glad to rouse out of the Bed,  
And all by the violent noise of her Head.   

Sometimes a good Husband may meet with a Friend,  
And happen a panny or two pence to spend;  
Then in comes the Wife, who does thunder and bawl,  
And with the Quart flagon his Noddle doth maul.   

Her Tongue is more keen than a time twoedged Sword,  
Nay louder than Thunder she Peals will afford;  
Instead of fond Pleasures kind Love and Delighe,  
She is like a flerce Tiger, both Morning and Night.   

It is an unspeakable Torment I know,  
You cannot imagine what they undergo:  
Who with such cross Women, their Lives now do lead,  
But bring them away to the Doctor with speed.   

Nay let them be never so aged or young,  
This Doctor he takes out the Sting of the Tongue;  
Which is the main Cause of that violent noise,  
And likewise all modest Behaviour destroys.   

A Balsam he has of a moderate price,  
Which takes off the frowns of the Face in a trites,  
And makes her as mild as the innocent Dove,  
And instead of railing, she's all over Love.   

He hath been above seven Weeks in the Town,  
And yet of young Scolds who was given to frown,  
He has cured above Seven hundred indeed:  
And some full as bad as the Billingsgate-Breed.   

There's one I will mention, lived near Tower-Hill,  
Who would be both fight and quarrelling still:  
From night to next morning, from morning to noon,  
Her Pipes I must tell you, was always in tune.   

Her Husband he heard of this Doctor of fame,  
Without longer tarry, faith thither he came,  
With she that was called The inviacible Shrew,  
Fast bound in a Basket, for she would not go.   

This Doctor he cured her in less than a Week,  
And made her as modest, as mild, and as meek,  
As any sweet Lady this day in the Land,  
And so he does all, that he e'er takes in hand.   

We hear of some Quacks are for curing of Clays,  
And some other common Diseases, perhaps;  
But when did you hear on our vast British shore,  
Of one that could cure this Distemper before!   

Whoever is troubled this day with a Scold,  
Although she be youthful, or fourscore years old,  
'Tis all one to him, if the Cure he don't do,  
He'll not have so much as one penny of you.   

Now rather than any that pain shall endure,  
The Poor he for little or nothing will cure;  
All day at his Chamber he is to be found,  
Next Do●r to the Eel's-soot in Sallengers-Round.