The Woman's Victory:  
OR, The Conceited Cuckold cudgeled into good Qualities, By his fair and virtuous Wife.  
To the Tune of, The Languishing Swain, etc.  
 
 

YOung married Women, pray attend  
To these few lines which I have penned,  
So will you clearly understand,  
How I obtained the upperhand,   

Of my harsh Husband, most unkind,  
Who was to cruelty inclined,  
As by the sequel you shall hear,  
No Mortal e'er was so severe.   

My birth and education shows,  
I was not qualified for blows;  
Yet I so many did receive,  
That night and day my soul did grieve.   

My Parents had no Child but I,  
Therefore their care continually,  
Was still to have me married well;  
Yet under Fortune's frowns I fell.   

A wretched Miser married me,  
Whose age was threefore years and three,  
And I no more than seventeen;  
Would I his face had never seen.   

Before we long had married been,  
This aged Miser did begin  
To have some jealous thoughts of me,  
And then began my misery.   

When I abroad with him did go,  
Perhaps to see a Friend, or so,  
If any Man saluted me,  
It straight increased his jealousy.   

And then at night when we come home,  
He would with rage and fury foam,  
Nay, likewise kick and spurn me too,  
While my poor limbs were black and blue.   

I wondered at the cause of this,  
Or what he found so far amiss,  
Which should create such hateful strife,  
For I was weary of my life.   

At length I found the mischief bred  
Within his aged jealous head,  
And thereupon I found a way,  
His rage and malice to allay.   

Soon after this, we went one night  
To reap the pleasures of delight,  
Among some Friends in merriment,  
The which did cause much discontent.   

A Squire drank a glass to me,  
I pledged the Youth in modesty,  
Thinking no harm, yet ne'ertheless,  
He did my sides and shoulders dress.   

His bitter blows I could not bear,  
Therefore next morning, I declare,  
Wile he was sleeping fast in bed,  
I with a ladle broke his head.   

With that he starts and stairs about,  
I stood courageous, fierce and stout,  
Crying, I'll never be your Slave;  
With that another bang I gave.   

He with a cudgel run at me,  
I took a club as well as he,  
Crying, I am resolved to try  
Who shall be Master you or I   

I gave him not a minute's rest,  
But round the room the Rogue I dressed,  
At length I brought him to his knees,  
Henceforth I'll never you displease.   

This was his cry, still o'er and o'er:  
Quoth I, Will you he jealous more?  
No, no, I wont, sweet loving Wife,  
If thou'lt be pleased to spare my life.   

Pray keep your word, I then replied,  
Or else, adsfoot, I'll thrash your hide;  
You must not think that I'll be fooled,  
Or in the least be overruled.   

Thus I my Husband did subdue,  
I'faith I made him buckle too,  
Now ever since the truth to tell,  
With him I live exceeding well.   

He never offers now to fight,  
But calls me love and hearts delight;  
Thus, loving Neighbours, you may see,  
I cured him of his jealousy.    

London: Printed for J. Deacon, at the sign of the Angel, in Guilt-spur-street.