A Gentleman a verie friend of mine,
Hath a young wife and she is monstrous fine,
Shee’s of the new fantastique humor right,
In her attire an angell of the light.
Is she an Angell? I: it may be well,
Not of the light, she is a light Angell.
Forsooth his doore must suffer alteration,
To entertaine her mightie huge Bom-fashion,
A hood’s to base, a hat which she doth male,
With bravest feathers in the Estridge tayle.
She scornes to treade our former proud wives traces.
That put their glory in their on faire faces,
In her conceit it is not faire enough,
She must reforme it with her painters stuffe,
And she is never merry at the heart,
Till she be got into her leatherne Cart.
Some halfe amile the Coach-man guides the raynes,
Then home againe, birladie she takes paines.
My friend seeing what humours haunt a wife,
If he were loose would lead a single life.