Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life,  The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife,  Who has no will but by her high permission;  Who has not sixpence but in her possession;  Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell;  Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse than hell.  Were such the wife had fallen to my part,  I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart;  I'd charm her with the magic of a switch,  I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch.