To a New-Married Lady, Who Insisted on the Author's Writing a Song on Her

Of unmarried ladies, good-natur'd and gay,
I often have sung, as a body may say;
But now I must sing, as I would for my life,
Of notable Nancy, a new-married wife.

"A wife! Man.—A wife!—as I hope to live, see,
"Put in such a word and I'll never forgive ye—."
"Why, Madam, your husband— "My husband! O Lurd!
"That's just such another preposterous word.

"The lines of a song should run smooth and delightful:
"But husband! and wife! wife and husband! Oh frightful!
"Tis true Mr. K. I ne'er saw you till lately,
"But I vow and protest, from this time I shall hate ye.

"No doubt but you'll pen it all down, in your raillery,
"How we climb'd up like fools to look over the gallery;
"At the top of the house, at the top of the hill;
"Where, for want of my dinner; you know I was ill:

"For their Ham was so bad, and their Lisbon so prick'd,
"That the vintner and cook, both deserv'd to be kick'd;
"Which made me sit glouting and pouting, as sour
"As the white wine itself, for at least a full hour.

"Then truly, at last, when things came on the table,
"For my part I sat like the ass in the fable;
"Ducks, pullets, scotch-collops! and yet, with all that,
"The vittles for six, one might put in one's hat:

"Then such bad attendance! the dishes so small!
"Not turnips enow, and no carrots at all!
"The beef upon table, and they in the pot!
"And then the desert, with—no fruit to be got!

"The French wine too, adding some crowns to the charges,
"You gentlemen said, was no better than verjuice:
"For which I remember you rav'd at the host;
"Tho you might just as well have e'en talk'd to the post.

"I warrant you would, if you could, and had time,
"Put this odd-come-shortly fine stuff into rhime."
True, Ma'am, and as you can take nothing amiss,
Oblige me, and make a cantata of this.