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My goodly Stock, e'er yet they tafted Food, By cross-grain'd Hinds were driv'n from their Abode,
Tho' left bad Neighbours might have ow'd me
I fore-hand taid a Houfe to give me Right,
Roger not to be nam'd with me, I trow,
But Roger has a House in yonder Lane,
Alas! will Roger e'er his Sleep forego? Afore Larks fing, or early Cock 'gin crow, As I've for thee, ungrateful Maiden, done, To help thee milking, e'er Day-wark begun,
And when thy well-ftript Kye would yield
Still on my Head the reeking + Kit I bore.
We've held together ganging down the Balk‡,
But now, I ween, mais ¶ no fuch Haste away.
And there again them leetfome ++ Days re-
Where unaffail'd by meety ‡‡ Folk in Pow'r, Our Cattle yet may feed, tho' Snaith Marsh be no more.
But wae is me, I wot, I fand §§ am grown,
And Roger aims || e'er Lady-day to wed,
Paths and Carriages.
A Land in the Field for Foot§ Finding Fault.
Makes. ** An old Word for very foon.
¶¶ Be laid.
Not. tt Light§§ Foolish or
And tho' his Fleece no more our Parfon takes, And roaft Goose dainty Food, his Table lacks, Yet he for Tythes ill-paid, gets better Land, While I am ev'ry Way o'th' lofing Hand:
My Adlings war'd, and yet my Rent to pay, My Geefe, like Sufan's Faith, flown far away, My Cattle, like their Mafter, lank and poor, My Heart with hopeless Love to Pieces tore, And all these Sorrows came, fyne Snaith Marsh was no more.
The BROCADED GOWN and LINEN RAG.
ROM a fine Lady to her Maid,
Or from fome Caufe, I can't divine,
The Gown, contemptuous Beholder,
Gave a French Shrug from either Shoulder,
Unfit for Tinder, Lint, or Fodder, "Thou Thing of Filth, and (what is odder) "Discarded from thy Owner's Iflue, "Dare you approach Brocade and Tissue ? or in this Place
"Be gar me give you Coup de Grace."
To this reply'd the honeft Rag, Who likes a Jeft, and was a Wag,
Tho' thy glib Tongue without an Halt run, Thou fhabby, fecond-hand, Subaltern, • At once fo antient and so easy, At once fo gorgeous and fo greasy, • I value not your gafconading, Nor all your A-la-mode parading. But to abstain from Words imperious, And to be fober, grave, and serious, (Tho', fays Friend Horace, 'tis no Treafon At once to giggle, and to Reason)
. When me you leffen, Friend, you dream,
• Then shall the Sons of Genius join
• What, Mason, may I owe to you,
Such Glories my mean Lot betide;