The Cruell Shrow ;
Or the
Patient Mans Woe.

Declaring the misery, and the great paine,
By his vnquiet wife he doth dayly sustaine.

To the Tune of Cuckolds all arowe.
Come, Batchelors and Married men,
   and listen to my Song,
And I will shew you plainely, then,
   the iniury and wrong
That constantly I doe sustaine
   by the vnhappy life,
The which does put me to great pain,
   by my vnquiet wife.

She neuer linnes her bauling,
   her tongue it is so loud ;
But alwaies shee'le be railing,
   and will not be contrould ;
For shee the Briches still will weare,
   although it breedes my strife :--
If I were now a Batchelor,
   I'de neuer haue a Wife.

Sometime I goe i' the morning
   about my dayly worke,--
My wife she will be snorting,
   and in her bed shy'le lurke
Vntil the Chimes doe goe at Eight,
   then she'le beginne to wake ;
Her morning's draught, well spiced straight,
   to cleare her eyes, she'le take.

As soone as shee is out of bed
   her Looking-glasse shee takes,
So vainely is she dayly led ;
   her mornings worke shee makes
In putting on here braue atyre,
   that fine and costly be,
Whilst I worke hard in durt and mire,--
   alacke! what remedy?

Then she goes foorth a Gossiping
   amongst her own Comrades ;
And then she falls a bowsing
   with all her merry blades.
When I come home from my labour hard,
   then shee'le begin to scould,
And calls me Rogue, without regard,
   which makes my heart full cold.

When I come home into my house,
   thinking to take my rest :
Then she'le begin me to abuse
   before she did but Iest,
With " out, you Raskall ! you have beene
   abroad to meet your Whoore!"--
Then shee takes vp a Cudgel's end,
   and breaks my head full sore.

When I, for quietnesse-sake, desire
   my wife for to be still,
She will not grant what I require,
   but sweares she'le haue her will.
Then if I chance to heaue my hand,
   strait-way she'le murder ! cry :
Then iudge all men that here doe stand,
   in what a case am I.

The second Part, To the same Tune.

And if a friend by chance me call
   to drinke a pot of Beere,
Then she'le begin to curse and brall,
   and fight, and scratch, and teare,
And sweares vnto my work she'le send
   me straight, without delay,
Or else, with the same Cudgels end,
   shee will me soundly pay.

And if I chance to sit at meat
   vpon some holy day,
She is so sullen, she will not eate,
   but vexe me euer and aye :
She'le pout, and loure, and curse, & bann--
   this is the weary life
That I doe leade, poore harmelesse man,
   with my most dogged wife.

Then is not this a pitteous cause ?
   let all men now it trie,
And giue their verdits, by the Lawes,
   betweene my wife and I ;
And judge the cause, who is to blame,--
   Ile to their Judgement stand,
And be contented with the same,
   and put thereto my hand.

If I abroad goe any where,
   my business for to doe,
Then will my Wife anone be there,
   for to encrease my woe :
Straight way she such a noise wil make
   with her most wicket tongue, <---------- check
That all her mates, her part to take,
   about me soone will thronge.

Thus am I now tormented still
   with my most cruell Wife ;
All through her wicked tongue so ill,
   I am weary of my life :
I know not truely what to doe,
   nor how my selfe to mend ;
This lingring life doth breede my woe,
   I would 'twere at an ende.

O that some harmelesse honest man,
   whom Death did so befriend,
To take his Wife from off his hand,
   his sorrowes for to end,
Would change with me, to rid my care,
   and take my wife aliue
For his Dead wife vnto his share,
   then I would hope to thriue.

But so it likely will not be,
   that is the worst of all !
For, to encrease my dayly woe,
   and for to breed my fall,
My wife is still most froward bend--
   such is my lucklesse fate !--
There is no man will be content
   with my vnhappy state.

Thus to conclude and make an ende
   of these my Verses rude,
I pray all wiues for to amende,
   and with peace to be endude.
Take warning, all men, by the life
   that I sustained long,
Be carefull how you'le chuse a Wife,
   and so I'le ende my Song.


Arthur Halliarg.

London, Printed by M. P. for Henry Gosson, on
London Bridge, neere the Gate.