It's Jealousie that maggot of the pate, Possess the Sot, how violent's his hate, What curst suspitions haunt his tortur'd Mind, And make him look for what he would not find, Nothing but Females must i'th House appear, And not a Dog or Cat, that's Male be there, Nay lest the unhappy wife shou'd have her longings, He cuts out all the Men i'th Tapstry Hangings, And if a harmless Letter's to her sent, He'll make it speak worse sense than e'er it meant.

The Fifth Comfort

In a Curst Chamber, Cloyster'd up for Life, Loves Female Innocence miscall'd a wife, Deny'd those Pleasures are to Virtue granted, Yearly the Devil of a Husband haunted, for a Release she cannot Hope nor Pray, Till milder Death takes him, or her away, If her she's happy, and if him she's bless'd, Till to her arms she takes a second Guest.

The Sixth Comfort

If Beauty, Wit, or Com[*?] aisance would do, There's women that can all these wonders show, Beauty that might new fire to Hermit lend, And wit which serves that Beauty to defend, who courted, cou'd do wonders with those Charms, Till Parson conjur'd her to Husbands Arms, And tho' the same perfections still remain Yet nothing now can the dull Creature gain, No looks can win him, nor no Smiles invite, He now does her, and her Endearments slight, And leaves those Graces which he shou'd adore, To dote upon some Ugly suburb whore, whilst poor neglected Spouse remains at home, with discontent and Sorrow overcome, No prayers, nor tears, nor all the Virtuous arts. which women use to tame Rebellous Hearts. Can the Incorrigible H[*?] move, And make him own his once so promis'd love,

The Seventh Comfort

Oh she a happy, too too happy Bride, That has a Husband snoring by her side, Belching out Fumes of undigested wine, And lies all Night like a good natur'd Swine, whose Snoring serves as Musick to her Ears, And keeps true Confort with her silent Tears, That can himself no more than Chaos move, And still neglects the great affair of love, She may indeed assume the name of wife, But others know she's but a Nurse for life.

The Eighth Comfort

A drunken Husband tho may have good nature, But here's a fullen Matrimonial Creature, will ask, and will not, will ask, and will deny Is Peevish, Cross, and cannot tell for why, Not one kind look he will to Spouse afford, Scarce speake at all, at least not one good word, All the obliging arts that she can use, To reconcile this angry pevish Spouse, Avail no more, than if she took delight, In washing Bricks, or Swarthy Negroes white, Lyons, and Tyger Men have learnt to tame; Retaining nothing frightful but the Name, But Man, unruly man, that Beast of reason, 'Gainst women still continues in his Treason. No Charms his damn'd ill nature can release, Satan, must only Satan disposes.

The Ninth Comfort

Nor Marriage is alone the dang'rous shelf, On which a woman may destroy her self, Believe no whineing Fool that Swears he loves, And for your Pity to his Passion moves: with fair decoying words he glids the Cheat, Tells her the Sin, nor Danger are so great, The joy is past the reach of Humane view, And adds it will for ever bind him to be True: But oh! if Maids upon this Quicksand run, They're lost past hope, and are for e'er undone,

The Tenth Comfort

Another swears he'll keep you all your Life, Without the ugly Names, of Man and Wife. And to that End what Arts, what Tricks are laid, T' insnare the Virtuous Young unthinking Maid, What rev'rend Bawd's made use of to Entice, The Fair one's liking to that Modish Vice. How she at last is guided to his Arms, Where for a while he Doats upon her Charms. But long she can't the airy Title hold, Her look'd for Joys are scarce a Twelve Month Old, Before Kind Keeper takes another Miss, By sad Experience weary grown of this.

The Eleventh Comfort

Are these the Sov'reigns then that we must own, Must we before their Golden Calves bow down, Forgive us Heav'n, if we renounce the Elves, And make a Common-wealth among our Selves, Whereby the Laws that we shall there Ordain. We'll make it Capital to mention Man, Man! we'll for ever banish from our sight, Not talk by Day, nor think of them by Night, We'll shun their Courtship, as we do the Plague, And loath 'em more than they a Toothless Hagg.

The Twelfth Comfort

'Tis not their Sighs, Crying, nor Prayers, Their subtile Whinings, nor Treacherous Tears, That shall one kind Return for ever gain, But when t' oblige us they've done all they can, We'll laugh, deride, and scorn the Foppish Sex, And wrank Invention for new ways to vex, Till they to shun us, prompted by Despair, Or Drown themselves, or hung in cleanly Air.

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The Fifteen Comforts of Matrimony: Responses From Women

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The Fourth Comfort