Why there are men doe erre in what you hold,
Chast batchelers that neuer meane to match,
Who for the siugle life smooth tales haue told,
And yet the fleshly knaues will haue a snatch:
Ile ne're trust those that of themselues doe boast,
The great'st presisians will deceiue you most.
I knew a prating fellow would maintaine,
A married man had but two merry dayes,
His wedding day the ioyfull first of twaine,
For then God giue you ioy, euen all men sayes:
The second merry day of married life,
Is that whereon he burieth his wife.
And woemen vnto shippes he would compare,
Saying as they continually lacke mending,
So wiues still out of repairations are,
And vrge their husbands daily vnto spending:
Yea worse disgrace, he would presume to speake:
Which I will spare, least I offend the weake.
But note the badnesse of this wretches life,
That counted woemen abiect things forsaken,
He raune away at last with's neighbours wife,
Worthy of hanging were the rascall taken:
Such odious actes haue such dishonest mates,
that against marriage, rude and senceles prates.
But you most wilfull wenches that oppose,
Against the state that you are borne to honour,
A prophesie vnto you Ile disclose,
And she that here doth take most nice vpon her:
Pray note it well, for there is matter in it,
And for to doe you good thus I beginne it.
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