The Scolding WIFE  
To a pleasant new Tune.  
 
 

THere was youngman for lucre of gain,  
He loved a Widow well,  
His Friends did tell him often and plain,  
in scolding she did excel.  
Why that is no matter, quoth he,  
so I may have her Bags of Gold,  
let her not spare to Brawl and Scold,  
For I'll be as merry as merry may be.   

This Woodcock wedded his hearts desire;  
a Widow with Money enough;  
They was-not so soon out of the Choir  
e'er she begun to snuff;   

Methink you be very fine,  
you can no quicker get you hence,  
without such large and great expense,  
Of sugared Sops and music to dine.   

They was not all at supper set,  
or at the board sat down,  
E'er she began to brawl and scold,  
and called him a peaking Clown:  
That nothing he could do  
that was pleasing in her sight;  
but still she scolded day and night,  
Which made this merry man's heart full of woe.   
 
 

If he had provided any good cheer  
for him and her alone,  
Then she would a said, with words more hot,  
you might a done this of your own.  
If sparingly he will be,  
than she would have said with words more hot  
I will not be pinched of what I brought,  
But of mine own I will be free.   

That nothing he could do  
That was pleasing in his sight,  
But still she scolded day and night,  
Which made this merry man's hearts full of woe.  
O God in his Prayer he did beseech  
To take his Life away,  
A hundred times he cursed  
The Priest, the Clerk, the Sexton too,   

And tongue that did the Widow woe,  
And legs that brought him first.  
It fell out upon a day  
that with his friends he did devise  
to broke her of her scolding guise,  
And what they did they shall be weary:  
They got and tied her Arms  
She could not them undo,   

And many other pretty Charms  
they used her unto,  
Her Petticoat was rend and torn,  
Upon her Back they did put on,  
They tore her Smock sleeves all along,  
As if a Bedlam she had been born;  
Her hair about her head they shook,  
All with a bramble Bush.   

They ring her Arms in every crook  
Till out the blood did gush,  
And with an Iron Chain  
Fast by the Leg he did her tye,  
There within an old dark House by:  
So soon he went away again,  
And with a Countenance so sad,  
He did his Neighbours call:   

Quoth he, my Wife is Mad,  
She doth so rave and brawl:  
Help Neighbours all therefore,  
To see if that you can reclaim  
My Wife into her Wits again  
For she is troubled wondrous sore.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pie-corner.