The Cuckold Poem by William Hutton

The Muse, as property is gone,
She should, by right, put mourning on.
The simple smile shall fly the place;
My tale comes with a serious face.

Why is a man disgrac'd, I pray,
Because his wife shall go astray?
Why sneering language at him sent
For evils which he would prevent?
Good boys will never make their sport
Of people who are bent or short.
If he consents not to her shame,
He merits pity, never blame.
But if he aids her acting ill,
Then call him Cuckold if you will;
But he'll regard no more your cries
Than blust'ring winds a lover's sighs.

We'll now the curtain raise, and there
Three sober people shall appear;
Mr. John Carpenter and bride,
With Mr. Aldworth by their side;
They liv'd in peace, shunn'd all demur,
She lov'd them both--they both lov'd her.
Yet every act, though they agree,
Must not be known to all the three.
She'd charms, though not expos'd to view,
Which Carpenter and Aldworth knew.

How, when, and where, we'll not relate,
Only a real fact we state.
Aldworth held thirty pounds a year
During the life of Carpenter:
He'd every motive to shun strife--
Aldworth should try to save his life.

What though the sky be calm and bright
For many a day and many a night,
Yet not expect a change is vain;
'Twill end in thunder, wind, and rain.
This our two heroes did betide,
Who shar'd the favours of the bride.
A quarrel rose while she was by;
The lightning flash'd from either eye;
From Aldworth chief it flew apace,
Who call'd him Cuckold to his face.

O, cruel word! it sorely gall'd;
'Twas gone, and could not be recall'd.
The rage of Carpenter we sing,
As rising to the treble string;
His best revenge is, we suppose,
To kick the bottom; ring the nose.
And was this styptic in his power,
He might apply it half an hour.

But Carpenter, who, lost in thought,
Other retaliation sought
Determin'd he would soon cashier
Aldworth of thirty pounds a-year--
Jump'd in a pond, where he was drown'd;
There full revenge on Aldworth found.

Should this be every Cuckold's case,
How much, alas, 'twould thin our race!
The world would suffer to its cost,
For half the husbands would be lost.
She mourn'd because she, to her woe,
Lost one of two strings to her bow.
He curs'd the name, and griev'd for life;
He'd nothing left--except the wife.

Preserve a Cuckold, if you can;
You'll find him a most useful man;
A screen as needful as attire
To guard against a scorching fire:
But if the screen you over-turn,
Your reputation soon will burn.