S I was walking fo°th of late,
  I heard a Man complaining,
With that I drew me near to him,
     to know the cauƒe and meaning
Of this his ƒo°row, pain and grief,
     which b°ed him ƒuch diƒa¥er.
Alas, quoth he, what ƒhall I do,
     my wife will be my Ma¥er.
But if ever I am a Widower,
    and another wife do marry,
I mean to keep her poor and bare,
 and the purƒe I mean to carry.

If I ƒhould give her fo°ty pound,
     within her ap°on folding,
No longer then she's telling ont,
     her tongue would ne're leave ƒcolding,
As Eƒops Dog barkt at the Moon,
     thinking fo° to di¥a¥ her,
So doth my wife ƒcold without cauƒe,
     and ¥rives to be my Ma¥er;
But if ever, &c.

Were I ƒo ¥rong as Hercules,
     o° wiƒer then Apollo,
Or had I Icarus wings to flye,
     my wife would after follow.
Or ƒhould I live as many years,
     as ever did King Ne¥or,
Yet I do greatly ¥and in fear,
     my wife would be my Ma¥er.
But if ever, &c.

I know no cauƒe no° reaƒon why,
     that she with me should jangle,
I never gave her cauƒe at all,
     to make her with me w°angle;
I pleaƒe her ¥ill in what I may,
     and do no jot di¥a¥ her,
Yet ƒhe doth ¥rive both night and day,
     always to be my Ma¥er,
But if ever I am a Widdower,
    and another wife do marry,
I mean to keep her poor and bare,
    and the purƒe I mean to carry.

Every mo°ning make a fire,
  all which is done to eaƒe her,
I get a Nutmeg, make a toa¥,
     in hope therewith to pleaƒe her;
Of a cup of nappy ale and ƒpice,
     of which ƒhe is fir¥ ta¥er,
And yet this cros-grain'd quean will ƒcold
     and ¥rive to be my ma¥er.
But if ever, &c.

I waƒh the diƒhes, waƒh the houƒe,
     I dreƒs her wholƒom dyet,
I humour her in every thing,
     becauƒe I would be quiet:
Of every ƒeveral diƒh of meat,
     she'l ƒurely be fir¥ ta¥er,
And I am glad to pick the bones,
     she is ƒo much my ma¥er:
But if ever, &c.

Sometimes she'l ƒit while day gives light
     in company with good fellows,
In Taverns and in bowling Kens,
     o° in ƒome pimping Ale-houƒe;
& when she comes home drunk at night,
     though I do not di¥a¥ her,
She'l fling she'l throw, she'l ƒcratch and bit
     and ¥rive to be my Ma¥er.
But if ever, &c.

Her bed I make both ƒoft and fine,
     and put on shoos completely,
Her shoos and ¥ockings I pull off,
     and lay her down mo¥ neatly:
I cover her and keep her warm,
     fo° fear I ƒhould di¥a¥ her,
I hug her kindly in my arms,
     yet ¥ill she'l be my ma¥er:
But if ever, &c.

And when I am with her in bed,
     she doth not uƒe me well ƒir,
She'l w°ing my noƒe, and pull my ears,
     a pittiful caƒe to tell ƒir:
And when I am with her in bed,
     not meaning to mole¥ her,
She'l kick me out at the beds feet,
     and ƒo become my ma¥er:
But if ever, &c.

And thus you hear how cruelly
     my wife doth ¥ill abuƒe me;
At bed, at board, at noon and night,
     she always doth miƒuƒe me:
But if I were a lu¥y Man,
     and able fo° to ba¥ her,
Then would I ƒurely uƒe ƒome means,
     that she should not be my ma¥er.
But if ever, &c.

You Batchelo°s that ƒweethearts have,
     when as you are a Wooing,
Be ƒure you look befo°e you leap,
     fo° fear of your undoing:
The after wit is not the be¥,
     and he that weds in ha¥ ƒir,
May like to me bewail his caƒe,
     if his wife do p°ove his Ma¥er:
But if ever, &c.

You Married Men that have good wives
     I wiƒh you deal well by them,
Fo° they mo°e p°ecious are then gold,
     if once you come to try them:
A good wife makes a huƒband glad,
     then let him not di¥a¥ her,
But a ƒcold will make a Man run mad,
     if once she p°oves his Ma¥er,
But if ever, &c.