CCCCLXXVII.
I married my wife by the light of the moon,
A tidy housewife, a tidy one;
She never gets up until it is noon,
And I hope she'll prove a tidy one.
And when she gets up, she is slovenly laced,
A tidy, &c.
She takes up the poker to roll out the paste,
And I hope, &c.
She churns her butter in a boot,
A tidy, &c.
And instead of a churnstaff she puts in her foot,
And I hope, &c.
She lays her cheese on the scullery shelf,
A tidy, &c.
And she never turns it till it turns itself.
And I hope, &c.