While Joan her chastity to shew
Wish’d “the bold knaves would serve her so,”
She’d “teach the rogues such wanton play!”
And well she could, she knew the way.
The Farmer, mute with jealous care,
Sat sullen, in his wicker chair;
Hating the noisy gamesome host
Yet, fearful to resign his post;
He envied all their sportive strife
But most he watch’d his blooming wife,