Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!

Fair Venus gave me fire, and sprightly grace,
And Mars assurance, and a dauntless face.
By virtue of this powerful constellation,
I follow'd always my own inclination.

But to my tale: A month scarce pass'd away,
With dance and song we kept the nuptial day.
All I possess'd I gave to his command,

My goods and chattels, money, house, and land:
But oft repented, and repent it still;

He proved a rebel to my sovereign will:
Nay, once by Heaven he struck me on the face;
Hear but the fact, and judge yourselves the case.
Stubborn as any lioness was I;

And knew full well to raise my voice on high;
As true a rambler as I was before,

And would be so, in spite of all he swore.
He, against this right sagely would advise,
And old examples set before my eyes;
Tell how the Roman matrons led their life,
Of Gracchus' mother, and Duilius' wife;
And close the sermon, as beseem'd his wit,
With some grave sentence out of Holy Writ.
Oft would he say, Who builds his house on sands,
Pricks his blind horse across the fallow lands;
Or lets his wife abroad with pilgrims roam,
Deserves a fool's-cap and long ears at home.
All this avail'd not; for whoe'er he be
That tells my faults, I hate him mortally:
And so do numbers more, I'll boldly say,
Men, women, clergy, regular and lay.

My spouse (who was, you know, to learning bred)

A certain treatise oft at evening read,

Where divers authors (whom the devil confound
For all their lies!) were in one volume bound.
Valerius, whole; and of St Jerome, part;
Chrysippus and Tertullian, Ovid's Art,
Solomon's Proverbs, Eloïsa's loves;

And many more than sure the Church approves.
More legends were there here, of wicked wives,
Than good, in all the Bible and saints' lives.
Who drew the lion vanquish'd? 'Twas a man!
But could we women write as scholars can,

Men should stand mark'd with far more wickedness
Than all the sons of Adam could redress.

Love seldom haunts the breast where learning lies, And Venus sets ere Mercury can rise.

Those play the scholars who can't play the men, And use that weapon which they have, their pen;

When old, and past the relish of delight,
Then down they sit, and in their dotage write,
That not one woman keeps her marriage-vow.
(This by the way, but to my purpose now.)

It chanced my husband, on a winter's night,
Read in this book, aloud, with strange delight,
How the first female (as the Scriptures shew)
Brought her own spouse and all his race to woe.
How Samson fell; and he whom Dejanire
Wrapp'd in the envenom'd shirt, and set on fire.
How cursed Eryphile her lord betray'd,
And the dire ambush Clytemnestra laid.
But what most pleased him was the Cretan dame,
And husband-bull-oh, monstrous! fie for shame!
He had by heart, the whole detail of woe
Xantippe made her good man undergo;
How oft she scolded in a day, he knew,
How many jordens on the sage she threw;
Who took it patiently, and wiped his head;
"Rain follows thunder:" that was all he said.

He read how Arius to his friend complain'd,
A fatal tree was growing in his land,

On which three wives successively had twined
A sliding noose, and wavered in the wind.

Where grows this plant, (replied the friend,) oh, where
For better fruit did never orchard bear.

Give me some slip of this most blissful tree,

And in my garden planted shall it be.

Then how two wives their lords' destruction prove, Through hatred one, and one through too much love; That for her husband mix'd a poisonous draught, And this for lust an amorous philtre bought: The nimble juice soon seized his giddy head, Frantic at night, and in the morning dead.

How some with swords their sleeping lords have slain. And some have hammer'd nails into their brain, And some have drench'd them with a deadly potion; All this he read, and read with great devotion.

Long time I heard, and swell'd, and blush'd, and
frown'd;

But when no end of these vile tales I found,
When still he read, and laugh'd, and read again,
And half the night was thus consumed in vain;
Provoked to vengeance, three large leaves I tore,
And with one buffet fell'd him on the floor.
With that my husband in a fury rose,
And down he settled me with hearty blows.
I groan'd, and lay extended on my side;
Oh! thou hast slain me for my wealth, (I cried ;)

Yet I forgive thee-take my last embrace-
He wept, kind soul! and stoop'd to kiss my face;
I took him such a box as turn'd him blue,
Then sigh'd and cried, Adieu, my dear, adieu !
But after many a hearty struggle past,

I condescended to be pleased at last.
Soon as he said, My mistress and my wife,
Do what you list, the term of all your life:
I took to heart the merits of the cause,
And stood content to rule by wholesome laws;
Received the reins of absolute command,
With all the government of house and land,
And empire o'er his tongue, and o'er his hand.
As for the volume that reviled the dames,
'Twas torn to fragments, and condemn'd to flames.
Now Heaven, on all my husbands gone, bestow
Pleasures above, for tortures felt below:

That rest they wish'd for, grant them in the grave,
And bless those souls my conduct help'd to save!