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Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744

"A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 2"


I think there is no man under the sun,
That here on the earth beareth life,
Which would do such drudgery as I have done,
At the unkind words of such a wife;
For how I was used, and in what wise,
A day to declare will not suffice.
If this be not true, as I have spoken,
To my good neighbours I me report,
Who other whiles, when I was smitten,
My wife to be gentle did then exhort:
For glad I was to abide all labour,
Whereby the less might be my dolour.[372]
Wherefore, good father, I you humbly desire
To have pity of me and some compassion,
Or else I am like to lie fast in the mire,
Without any succour or consolation:
For at this hour I have not a penny,
Myself to help in this great misery.
FATHER. For so much as by my advice and counsel
In no manner wise thou wouldest be ruled.
Therefore to thee I cannot do well,
But let thee still suffer as thou hast deserved,
For that thou hast suffered is yet nothing
To that tribulation which is behind coming.
SON. Alas, father, what shall I do?
My wits of themselves cannot devise
What thing I were best go unto,
Whereof an honest living may arise:
Wherefore, gentle father, in this distress,
Somewhat assuage mine heaviness.
FATHER. What should I do, I cannot tell,
For now that thou hast taken a wife,
With me thy father thou mayest not dwell,
But always with her spend thy life.
Thou mayest not again thy wife forsake,
Which during life to thee thou didst take.


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