Deny'd those Pleasures are to Virtue granted,
Yearly the Devil of a Husband haunted,
for a Release she cannot Hope nor Pray,
Till milder Death takes him, or her away,
If her she's happy, and if him she's bless'd,
Till to her arms she takes a second Guest.


_The Sixth Comfort._

If Beauty, Wit, or Com[*?]aisance would do,
There's women that can all these wonders show,
Beauty that might new fire to Hermit lend,
And wit which serves that Beauty to defend,
who courted, cou'd do wonders with those Charms,
Till Parson conjur'd her to Husbands Arms,
And tho' the same perfections still remain
Yet nothing now can the dull Creature gain,
No looks can win him, nor no Smiles invite,
He now does her, and her Endearments slight,
And leaves those Graces which he shou'd adore,
To dote upon some Ugly suburb whore,
whilst poor neglected Spouse remains at home,
with discontent and Sorrow overcome,
No prayers, nor tears, nor all the Virtuous arts.
which women use to tame Rebellous Hearts.
Can the Incorrigible H[*?] move,
And make him own his once so promis'd love,