3 D. W. Your owne Cuntry breedes ye hansom, maintaines ye brave, But with a stubborne hand the husbands awe ye: You speake but what they please, looke where they point ye, And though ye have some libertie 'tis lymitted. 4 D. W. Which cursse you must shake of.
To live is nothing; To live admird and lookd at, poore deservings But to live soe, so free you may commaund, Lady, Compell, and there raigne Soveraigne. 1 D. W. Do you thinck there's any thing Our husbands labour for, and not for our ends? Are we shut out of Counsailes, privacies, And onely lymitted our household busines? No, certaine, Lady; we pertake with all, Or our good men pertake no rest.
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