Philip Morin Freneau

The Neglected Husband

A man's best fortune or his worst's a wife,
A steady friendship, or continual strife.

Poor Richard, once married a Belle,
The pride, and the toast of the town,
He could love her, he thought, very well,
Let her smile, let her scold, let her frown.

She danced--and she cared not a straw,
Not a fig, if he lived or he died;
If a fop with a feather she saw
His attentions were rarely denied.

Poor Richard was pitied by all,
Thus slighted, neglected, distress'd,
Yet, rather than wrangle and brawl
He made of his bargain the best.

In reading, he pass'd all the day,
Or posing the works of the dead;
He scribbled a little, they say,
When the notion came into his head.

No sooner the candles were lit
Than Richard neglected the pen--
She cared not a cent what he writ,
Or thought, about women or men.

While he was intent on a book,
She flirted away to the ball;
And told him, he sadly mistook,
For cards were the best of them all.

At last, honest Richard fell sick,
She saw it, and said with a groan,
"I see you are going my Dick,
And therefore I let you alone.

The Doctors know best what to do;
For doses and drenches prepare;
There's Dolly, and Sambo, and Sue--
I leave you, my dear, in their care."-

He fretted to see her depart
In a humor so cheerful and gay,
And said, with a sigh from his heart,
These women will have their own way.

Poor Richard survived but a year
The cruel neglect of his spouse,
Yet loved her, and call'd her his dear--
But thought she had broken church vows.

When death came at last to his aid,
He muttered with groaning, and pain,
I am going, he peevishly said,
Where I never will marry again.

Then gave up the ghost, with a groan,
And sunk to the land of repose,
Where madam must go, in her turn,
When rid of her dandies and beaus.

What follow'd, we scarcely need say,
Nor think if I do that I rave,
She dress'd and she went to the Play,
And Richard was laid in his grave.