One Sunday except, and then I turn'd sick, a plague take all countrified cooks!
Why didn't they tell me, before I had dined, they made pigeon pies of the rooks?
Then the gooseberry wine, tho' it's pleasant when up, it doesn't agree when it's down,
But it served me right like a gooseberry fool to look for champagne out of town!
To be sure cousin G. meant it all for the best when he started this pastoral plan,
And his wife is a worthy domestical soul and she teaches me all that she can,
Such as making of cheese, and curing of hams, but I'm sure that I never shall learn,
And I've fetched more back-ache than butter as yet by chumping away at the churn;
But in making hay, tho' it's tanning work, I found it more easy to make,
But it tries one's legs, and no great relief when you're tired to sit down on the rake.