EPIGRAMS

When wedded Nell was brought to bed,

She scream'd and roar'd with pain;

She'd rather die a maid, she said,

Was it to do again.

Pray have a little patience Nell,

And say, why this pother?

Before your marriage you could tell

What 'twas to be a mother.

A tax on women to impose, is surely, sir, a sin,

Why should you try to punish those who never took you in?


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