Reject his greafy kindness, and restore
Th' unfav'ry morfel he had chew'd before.
Nor let his arms embrace your neck, nor reft
Your tender cheek upon his hairy breast.
Let not his hand within your bofom ftray,
And rudely with your pretty bubbies play.
But above all, let him no kifs receive;
That's an offence I never can forgive.
Do not, O do not that sweet mouth resign,
Left I rife up in arms, and cry, 'tis mine.
I fhall thruft in betwixt, and void of fear
The manifest adult'rer will appear.
These things are plain to fight; but more I
Take not his leg between your
Nor, with your hand, provoke my foe to rifè.
How many love-inventions I deplore,
Which I myself have practis'd all before?
How oft have I been forc'd the robe to lift
In company; to make a homely shift
For a bare bout, ill huddled o'er in hafte,
While o'er my
fide the fair her mantle cast.
You to your husband shall not be so kind;
But, left you fhould, your mantle leave behind.
Encourage him to tope; but kifs him not,
Nor mix one drop of water in his pot.
If he be fuddled well, and fnores apace,
Then we may take advice from time and place.
When all depart, when compliments are loud,
Be fure to mix among the thickest crowd:
There I will be, and there we cannot miss,
Perhaps to grubble, or at least to kifs.
Alas! what length of labour I employ,
Juft to fecure a fhort and tranfient joy!
For night must part us; and when night is come,
Tuck'd underneath his arm he leads you home,
He locks you in; I follow to the door,
His fortune envy, and my own deplore.
He kiffes you, he more than kiffes too;
Th' outrageous cuckold thinks it all his due.
But add not to his joy by your confent,
And let it not be given, but only lent.
Return no kifs, nor move in any fort;
Make it a dull and a malignant fport.
Had I my wish, he should no pleasure take,
But flubber o'er your bufinefs for my fake.
And whate'er fortune shall this night befal,
Coax me to-morrow, by forfwearing all.
F for thyfelf thou wilt not watch thy whore,
Watch her for me, that I may love her more. What comes with ease we naufeously receive, Who, but a fot, would fcorn to love with leave? With hopes and fears my flames are blown up higher ?
Make me despair, and then I can defire.
Give me a jilt to teaze my jealous mind;
Deceits are virtues in the female kind.
Corinna my fantastic humor knew,
Play'd trick for trick, and kept herself still new :
She, that next night I might the sharper come,
Fell out with me, and sent me fasting home ;
Or fome pretence to lie alone would take ;
Whene'er the pleas'd, her head, and teeth would
'Till having won me to the highest strain,
She took occafion to be sweet again.
With what a guft, ye gods, we then imbrac'd! How ev'ry kifs was dearer than the last!
To come after Pace 1-6 Vol IV.
Thou whom I now adore, be edify'd, Take care that I may often be deny'd. Forget the promis'd hour, or feign some fright,' Make me lie rough on bulks each other night. These are the arts that beft fecure thy reign, And this the food, that muft my fires maintain. Grofs eafy love does, like grofs diet, pall, In squeafy ftomachs honey turns to gall. Had Danaë not been kept in brazen tow'rs, Jove had not thought her worth his golden fhow'rs.
When Juno to a cow turn'd Io's fhape,
The watchman help'd her to a fecond leap.
Let him who loves an eafy Whetstone whore,
Pluck leaves from trees, and drink the common
thore.
The jilting harlot ftrikes the fureft blow,
A truth which I by fad experience know.
The kind poor conftant creature we despise;
Man but pursues the quarry while it flies.
But thou dull husband of a wife too fair,
Stand on thy guard, and watch the precious ware;
If creaking doors, or barking dogs thou hear,
Or windows fcratch'd, fufpect a rival there.
An orange wench would tempt thy wife abroad;
Kick her, for fhe's a letter-bearing bawd;
In short, be jealous as the devil in hell;
And fet my wit on work to cheat thee well.
The sneaking city-cuckold is my foe,
I fcorn to ftrike, but when he wards the blow.
Look to thy hits, and leave off thy conniving,
I'll be no drudge to any wittal living;
I have been patient, and forborn thee long,
In hope thou wouldst not pocket up thy wrong:
If no affront can roufe thee, understand
I'll take no more indulgence at thy hand.
What, ne'er to be forbid thy house, and wife!
Damn him who loves to lead fo ill a life.
Now I can neither figh, nor whine, nor pray,
All those occafions thou haft ta’en away.
Why art thou fo incorrigibly civil?
Do fomewhat I may wish thee at the devil.
For fhame be no accomplice in my treason,
A pimping husband is too much in reason.
Once more wear horns, before I quite forfake her,
In hopes whereof, I reft thy cuckold-maker.
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