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?