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EBBA 21317

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
Quaker's Wives Lamentation
For the LOSS of
Her Husbands Jewels,
Who Gelded himself (in Petticoat-Lane ,) to vex his wife.
To the Tune of The Spinning Wheel. Licensed according to Order.

Oh Wretched Woman that I am,
That I was Wed to such a Man
That should do so great Injury
Both to himself and unto me,
Mithinks, he might have let alone
The Chiefest Branch, of Natures boon.

Oh husband, husband, what have you done?
You've parted with Jewels were none of your'n,
But they were Jewels belonging to me,
For which I'd not take Gold nor Fee;
Them I delighted more to feel,
Than e'er I did my Spinning Wheel.

Ah! My dear Wife it was my fault
That I am Lame, and thou must Hault,
For had'st thou but prov'd true to me,
Then I had done the like to thee,
And if thou hadst been true my Girl,
I ne'er had parted with Natures Pearl.

Ah my Dear Wife thou dost not know
What terrible pains I undergo
For never man did feel such pain,
I wish it were to do again,
I should not do my dear such wrong,
Nor be the Subject of this Song.

Ah my Dear Husband, you're to blame,
To bring upon us so much shame,
For most men will both say, and swear
That you wid go to next Horn-Fair,
And if you there look like an Elf,
Oh Husband you may thank your self.

Dear Husband you have done me wrong,
For Poets will put us in a Song,
You might as well have cut off all,
As leave behind a thing so small,
And thus to break your Wedlock Band,
To leave a Thing that cannot stand.

Come my dear Wife before we part,
I'll teach thee a trick and prove't by Art,
These Ii Weis they shall do the same,
As if that I were at the Game,
Then do not doubt of thy own Cure,
What pain soever I endure.

The Powder thereof it is Divine,
Then take it in a Glass of Wine,
And if that I am not beguil'd,
It will cause thee to prove with Child,
And raise an Off-spring unto me,
As if I were a kissing thee.

Ah this is a very pretty Toy,
That Quakers should themselves enjoy,
And run in danger of their lives,
On purpose for to vex their Wives,
But if I chance to bury thee,
The De'il a Quaker I will be.

Now I'll set on a Resolution,
I'll Tryal make of this Conclusion,
And take it once a Month besure,
What What pain soever I endure,
I doubt the Cure will prove but Lame,
There's nothing like to the Old Game.

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