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He discover'd the matter, and how it was done,
He father’s the babe, which indeed was his own,
It was well on his side that the frolic was play’d,
By kissing his mistress at the masquerade.
To the tune of the Milking Pail.
I Married a wife of late,
The more's my unhappy fate,
I took her for love as fancy might move,
’Twas not for her worldly estate:
Her qualities are, few with her compare,
Let me do her no wrong,
I’m in the mind most women kind,
Are thus inclin'd, when men’s confin’d,
They cannot well rule their tongue.
Her checks are like the red rose,
Which she for her beauty shows,
Her teeth in a row like ivory grow.
Betwixt her round chin and her nose:
Her shoulders are decent, her arms they are pleasant,
Her fingers are small and long,
She'll coo, she'll kiss, her chief amiss,
Is only this, as most wives is,
She cannot well rule her tongue,
When the on her pillow lies,
Her beautiful rolling eyes,
Like diamonds appear, so sparkling clear,
Like flora she far out vies,
The goddess of flowers, and queen of the bewers,
She’s delicate fair and young,
She’s straight and small, nay plump Withal,
Her fingers small, yet after ail.
She has an unruly tongue.
