(3)
On Sunday morning ſhe does begin,
as ſoon as e'er her eyes are open,
Come riſe up John, and fetch ſome gin,
dear me, I think you're quite provoking.
Your ſhitren clouts I waſh and dry,
rock the cradle, and tend the fire,
The chamber-pot then at me does fly,
crying, You dog, then take your hire.
I've got the cholic, fetch more gin in,
whilſt I’m gone then comes young Harry;
My horns to complete is the next thing,
if this is wedlock, then who would marry?
Then I hurry'd back with the gin,
thinking to gain my dear wife's favour,
She calls me her contented buck,
and bids me drink to my neighbour.
Then from my ſight, ſhe ſays, begone;
the Devil take both her and Harry,
It would be well for Easy John,
believe me, I never more would marry.
CUPID'S PASTIME.
IT chanc'd of late a ſhepherd ſwain,
that went to ſeek his ſtraying ſheep,
Within a thicket on a plain,
eſpy'd a dainty maid aſleep.
Her golden hair o'erſpread her face;
her careleſs arms abroad were caſt:
