And sometimes, where the sign ensnares
The wearied swain to drown his cares,
He lov’d to quaff the foaming ale,
And listen to a merry tale.
Was there within ten miles a fair—
He and his dame were surely there:
[p8]
For she too lov’d, in trim array,
And scarlet cloak, a holiday.
Ah! then within her pocket burn’d
The long sav’d crown so hardly earn’d,