A Widdower would have a wife were old,
Past charge of children to prevent expence
Her chests and bagges cram’d till they crake with gold,
And she unto her grave post quickly hence,
But if all this were fitting to his minde,
Where is his lease of life to stay behinde?
A Batcheler would have wife were wise,
Faire, Rich and Younge, a maiden for his bed,
Not proude, nor churlish but of fautles size,
A country housewife, in the Citty bred.
But hees a foole and longe in vaine hath staide,
He shoulde bespeake her, there’s none ready made.