To the dull drugery of a Marriage-Bed;
That Paradise for Fools, a Sport for Boys,
Tiresom its Chains, and brutal are its Joys,
Thou nauseous Priestcraft that to soon appear'd,
Not as I hop'd, but worse than what I fear'd.
All her soft Charms which I believ'd divine,
Marriage I thought had made them only mine;
Vain hope, alas for I too early found,
My Brows were with the Throne of Wedlock crown'd,
Jealousies, first from Reason rais'd a doubt,
And Fatal Chance th' unhappy Truth brought out;
Made it so plain from all Pretences free'd.
That wicked Woman no Excuse could plead;
And if she wants device to hide her Shame,
Hell can no Umbrage for Audult'ry frame.

I though it prudence the Disgrace to hide,
Tho' rav'd and Storm'd, she Pardon beg'd and Cry'd.
Yet with false Protestations strove to Charm:
The Cuckold to believe she'd done no harm,
Tho' taken by surprize (O curse the Day)
Where all the Marks of past Enjoyment lay,
And she disorder'd by her lustful freeks
Had Shame and Horrour strugling in her Cheeks:
Yet, made Essays to clear her Innocence,
And hide her guilt with Lyes and Impudence;
For lustful Women like a vicious State,
Oft stifle Ills by others full as great,
But I convinc'd too plainly of her Guilt,
All her false Oaths and quick inventions spoilt,