7
At length, one day, (alas! poor Tom.)
After his forenoon's toil, went home
On purpose for to dine;
But when he open'd up the door,
His wife was lying on the floor
"As drunk as David's swine."
He then dragg'd her into the room,
And by the bedside laid her down,
Whilst she did kick and sprawl;
And tho' that she was searcely fit
Even to lie without a grip,
She loud for more did bawl.
Poor Tom went out and brought her more.
And down her throat the same did pour,
Which finish'd then the booze,
For she directly fell asleep;
Out of the room then Tom did creep,
And left her to her snooze.
He then sat down and fill'd his pipe,
Took up a mateh and struek a light,
To puff away his eares;
Whilst thus engaged in pensive strain,
The door was open'd, and in there came,
A Bookman with his wares.
He thus addressing Tom did say—
"Any thing wanted in my way,
I've food for every palate."
Tom answer'd not, but puff'd away;
The Bookman he without delay
Did then untie his wallet.
