Song. in the Same

A Fond Husband, will, after a conjugal Strife, Kiss, forgive, weep, and fall on the neck of his Wife. But Abomelique's wife other conduct may dread, When he falls on her neck, 'tis to cut off her head.

How many there are, when a wife plays the fool, Will argue the point with her, calmly and cool; The Bashaw, who don't relish debates of this sort, Cuts the Woman, as well as the Argument, short.

But, whatever her errors, 'tis mighty unfair To cut off her Head, just as if 'twere all Hair; For, this truth is maintain'd by Philosophers still, That the Hair grows again, but the Head never will. And, among all the basest, sure he is most base, Who can view, then demolish, a Woman's sweet face, Her smiles might the malice of Devils disarm; And the Devil take him who would offer her harm.

Lowly we bend in duty, Queen of the peaceful Bowers! We bow to the foot-steps of beauty, And strew her path with flowers. The mellow flute is blowing, Bounce goes the Tambourin; Sweet harmony is flowing, To welcome Beauty's Queen.