MY WIFE WOULD HAVE HER WAY

TUNE:- "Kitty Jones."

  When I to manhood had arrived, and sick of toil and strife;
  As I were my own master, I resolved to take a wife;
  So Patty Martin I espied a milking of her cow,
  Then stept up boldly to her, and I made to her my vows,
  I ax'd her very kindly if to me she would be wed?
  With blushes - "Why Ize no objection, Measter Ralph," she said,
  "If you'll consent to what I wish, we'll name the wedding day."
  Says I, "what bee'st?" why, says she - "just to let me have my way."
  
  I thought this very moderate, so gave her my consent,
  The banns put up - I bought the ring, and to the church we went;
  And on our wedding day, Oh dear, we'd every thing so pat,
  With beef and pudding, pipes and yale, and bacon nice and fat.
  But how I stared to see my wife the yale put out of sight,
  And then she ax'd the ploughman just to stop with us all night;
  They both together went to bed - I at the foot did lay,
  But I zaid nought, acause I thought, I'd just let her have her way.
  
  Next morning she made me get up, as we had just been wed.
  And give the ploughman and herself some breakfast hot in bed;
  He stow'd the rolls and eggs away, and coffee too, like fun,
  And she'd not let me touch a mite, until they both were done.
  Then he arose and made to me  a very genteel bow,
  They both walked out, came home at night as drunk as David's sow;
  And 'cause I grumbled, then the broom she into me did lay.
  And when I ax'd her what she meant, says she, "why that's my way." 
  
  I very soon did curse the time that I beheld her face,
  For I was but a cipher and not measter of my place,
  I never had a civil word, although it was my due,
  And when I didn't please her, she would beat me black and blue!
  She made me scour the room, and wash the counterpanes and sheets,
  While dress'd up, with the ploughman, she went strolling through the streets;
  To buy him gin she pawn'd a portion of my clothes each day;
  But lord, I dared not scold, acause I knew she'd have her way.
  
  At length my wife got very stout and soon wur put to bed,
  She had a couple of little brats, which fill'd my mind with dread;
  For all the features of the ploughman they did soon disclose,
  His squinting eyes, his bandy legs, and ugly turn-up nose.
  Instead of crowning o my hopes, she crown'd my head with thorns,
  For all the people round about, declared I wore the horns;
  The bandy ploughman did my work, the people all did say,
  But how was I to help it for my wife would have her way.
  
  Thus things went on a year or two, she hourly proved my curse,
  For instead of getting better, why she every day got worse;
  Shw pawn'd my clothes, ah, every one, in spite of all I said,
  Till I all day, for want of togs, was forced to lie in bed;
  One day she call'd a broker in, and all my goods she sold.
  And off to Lunnun that same hour, she with the ploughman roll'd;
  She left me all the little ones, and little debts to pay;
  Oh, how I cursed the very hour I let her have her way.
  
  So single men a warning take, and when you take a wife,
  Begin with her as you determine to proceed thro' life:
  Never let your breeches go, but keep them tight yourself,
  For if a woman gets them on you are a foolish elf.
  Let her talk and let her walk, and sometimes take a drop,
  But never let another covey in your chamber pop;
  Love and press her, kiss, caress her, with her toy and play,
  But peace will fly, if once you let - a woman have her way.