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Anne 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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