Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,

The crouching vassal to a tyrant wife!

Who has no will but by her high permission,

Who has not sixpence but in her possession;

Who must to he, his dear friend's secrets tell,

Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell.

Were such the wife had fallen to my part,

I'd break her spirit or I'd break her heart;

I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,

I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch.