Page:Poor man's counsel, or, The married man's guide.pdf/8

(8) To the doctor then he goes,

And thus he vents his woes,

Oh! doctor you’ve me undone, undone, undone;

For my wife ſhe’s turn’d a ſcold,

And her tongue can never hold,

I’d give any kind of thing ſhe was dumb, dumb, dumb.

When I did undertake

To make thy wife to ſpeak,

It was a thing eaſily done, done, done,

But it’s paſt the art of man,

Let him do what e’er he can,

For to make a ſcolding wife hold her tongue, tongue, tongue.