The Wicked wife/The Wicked wife

THE WICKED WIFE

I thought when firſt I got a wife,
a happy pair we’d be,
But ſhe proves the torment of my life.
we never can agree.
For what I thought my greateſt bliſs,
is curſe beyond compare ;
and yet the worſt of all is this,
ſhe’s mine for ever-mair.

And ſhe’s ay, ay plaguing me,
ſhe’s ay plaguing me;
She proves the torment of my life,
we never can agree.

Of honey-months I’ve heard and read,
and hop'd to taſte them too;
But ah! I’m grievouſly afraid
there’s little of them true:
A wicked wife’s the warſt of a’,
at leaſt it ſeems to me:
My rib ſhe flytes frae morn till night,
‘we’re never like to ’gree.

And ſhe's ay, ay banging me,

A week indeed, and ſcarce that ſame.
a pleaſing thing ſhe was;
But e'er the ſecond Sabbath came,
ſhe made me cry alas!
How oft ſince that I've cry'd alas!
it's needleſs here to tell;
But if the fau't be on my ſide,
the jade ſhe kens herſel'.

And ſhe's ay, ay tempting me, &c.

I canno' ca' my houſe my ain,
nor any thing that's in't;
And if I chance but once to frown,
me flies like fire frae flint.
My very hair I canno' cut,
my cloaths I canno' wear
In any other faſhion but
what's pleaſing to my dear.

And ſhe's ay, ay ruling me, &c.

She kens I like exceedingly,
a dainty diſh o' meat;
But ſhe cooks it up ſo dirtily,
that a bit I canno' eat:
And if I chance to wring my mouth;
or even ſhake my head,

She bawls, You're very nice forſooth!
and bids me chew my quid.

And ſhe's ay, ay ſtarving me, &c:

Altho' I am as patient ay
as Socrates or Job,
Yet my ill-natur'd Jezebel
full ſoundly does me drub;
And when her barlick-hoods are on,
(which is right oft the caſe,)
What firſt ſhe lays her hands upon,
comes whack acroſs my face!

And ſhe's ay, ay thumping me, &c.

No man can reliſh more than I,
a bottle and a friend;
But this is what I ne'er enjoy,

leſt I ſhould her offend.
Laſt night my neighbour Tom and I,
ſat down, our throats to wet.
She thunder'd out ſo dreadfully,
I think I hear her yet!

And ſhe's ay, ay deaving me, &c.

When I'm diſpos'd for merriment,
ſhe's certain to be ſad:

And when to ſeriouſneſs I'm bent,
ſhe’s a’together mad.
When I could like to hear her ſpeak.
ſhe chuſes to be dumb ;
And when her ſilence much I ſeek,
ſhe rattles like a drum.

And ſhe’s ay, ay deaving me, &c.

That wedlock is a Paradiſe,
let thoſe that ken it tell;
But yet in my opinion
it’s little leſs than hell :
But hope and comfort yet remain,
comfort, and no more,
Death will come and break the chain,
and free me from her power.

And ſhe’ll ſoon, ſoon bury me, &c.