_The Fourth Comfort,_ &c.

One that so fast in _Hymens_ Net appears,
He has been strugling in't near twenty Years:
With Care and Toil to propagate his Store,
Able to keep the Wolf just from the Door;
As num'rous Offspring round his Table spread;
Daughters for Marriage fit, and Sons for Trades,
Is Blest with Comforts of the Marriage Bed.
Charges encreasing daily, and the thought
Where to get Money to dispose 'em out?
Or then perhaps he feels the greater Curse,
The Sons turn Sots, or Fools, the Daughters worse;
The Wife still teezing him to do his part,
Until he has enough to break his Heart.


_The Fifth Comfort,_ &c.

But the least pitied is your Aged Ass,
Who tho full Sixty, wou'd for Forty pass:
And that he may be sure a Crop to have,
And carry _Horns_ fresh budding to his Grave,
On one of Twenty, blooming as a Rose,
His dry and wither'd Carkass he bestows:
She jilts, intrigues, and plays upon him still,
Keeps her Gallants, and Rambles at her Will;
Do's nothing but her Pride and Pleasure mind,
And throws his Gold like Chaff before the Wind;
Until at length she beggars the old Slave,