Behold, You May, the Picture, Here, Of What, Keepes Man, and Childe, in Feare
THese, are the great’st Afflictions, most men have,
Ev’n from their Nursing-cradle, to their Grave:
Yet, both so needfull are, I cannot see,
How either of them, may well spared bee.
The Rod is that, which, most our Child-hood feares;
And, seemes the great’st Affliction that it beares:
That, which to Man-hood, is a plague, as common
(And, more unsufferable) is a Woman.
Yet, blush not Ladies; neither frowne, I pray,
That, thus of Women, I presume to say;
Nor, number mee, as yet, among your foes;
For, I am more your friend, then you suppose:
Nor smile ye Men, as if, from hence, ye had
An Argument, that Woman-kinde were bad.
The Birch, is blamelesse (yea, by nature, sweet,
And gentle) till, with stubborne Boyes, it meet:
But, then, it smarts. So, Women, will be kinde,
Vntill, with froward Husbands, they are joyn’d:
And, then indeed (perhaps) like Birchen boughes,
(Which, else, had beene a trimming, to their House)
They, sometimes prove, sharpe whips, and Rods, to them,
That Wisdome, and Instruction doe contemne.
A Woman, was not given for Correction;
But, rather for a furtherance to Perfection:
A precious Balme of love, to cure Mans griefe;
And, of his Pleasures, to become the chiefe.
If, therefore, she occasion any smart,
The blame, he merits, wholly, or in part:
For, like sweet Honey, she, good Stomackes, pleases;
But, paines the Body, subject to Diseases.