Now heaven in mercy be kind to the wretch, Who marries for money or fashion or folly; He'd better accept of the noose of Jack Ketch Than such a “help-meet;” or at once marry Dolly
The cook, or with Bridget, the maid of the broom; With one he'd be sure to get coffee and meat, And never hear whining of nothing to eat, And‘ t other would make up his bed and his room;
And if he was blest with a child now and then, As happens sometimes with your fashionable wives, Who're coupled to bipeds, in nature called men, He'd need no insurance to warrant their lives;
And need no expense of a grand “bridal tour,” Or visit each season at “watering places,” Where fashion at people well known to be poor, In money or station, will make ugly faces;
Where women, though married, with roues will flirt; Where widows, though widows in fresh sable weeds, Spread nets that entangle like old Nessus’ shirt And finish with Burdell and Cunningham deeds;
Where daughters when fading are taken to spend A month at the springs, or a week in salt water; Where bachelors flirting on Ellen attend, Are whispered by mamma, “engaged to my daughter.”
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