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Anne Kingsmill Finch - ReformationAnne Kingsmill Finch - Reformation
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A Gentleman, most wretched in his Lot, A wrangling and reproving Wife had got, Who, tho` she curb`d his Pleasures, and his Food, Call`d him My Dear, and did it for his Good, Ills to prevent; She of all Ills the worst, So wisely Froward, and so kindly Curst. The Servants too experiment her Lungs, And find they`ve Breath to serve a thousand Tongues. Nothing went on; for her eternal Clack Still rectifying, set all Matters back; Nor Town, nor Neighbours, nor the Court cou`d please, But furnish`d Matter for her sharp Disease. To distant Plains at length he gets her down, With no Affairs to manage of her own; Hoping from that unactive State to find A calmer Habit, grown upon her Mind: But soon return`d he hears her at his Door, As noisy and tempestuous as before; Yet mildly ask`d, How she her Days had spent Amidst the Quiet of a sweet Content, Where Shepherds `tend their Flocks, and Maids their Pails, And no harsh Mistress domineers, or rails? Not rail! she cries–Why, I that had no share In their Concerns, cou`d not the Trollops spare; But told `em, they were Sluts–And for the Swains, My Name a Terror to them still remains; So often I reprov`d their slothful Faults, And with such Freedom told `em all my Thoughts, That I no more amongst them cou`d reside. Has then, alas! the Gentleman reply`d, One single Month so much their patience try`d? Where you by Day, and but at Seasons due, Cou`d with your Clamours their Defects pursue; How had they shrunk, and justly been afraid, Had they with me one Curtain Lecture heard! Yet enter Madam, and resume your Sway; Who can`t Command, must silently Obey. In secret here let endless Faults be found, Till, like Reformers who in States abound, You all to Ruin bring, and ev`ry Part confound.
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