The farmer exclaimed, with a piteous sigh,
“To get rid of this curs’d noise and rout,
Wife, gi’e us some ale.” His dame straight did cry,
Hem’d and cough’d three times three, then made this reply—
“I can’t, mun!” “Why?” “’Cause the cask’s out!”
By the side of the fire sat Roger Geeho,
Who had finished his daily vocation:
With Cicely, who’s eyes were as black as a sloe,
A damsel, indeed, who had never said no,
And because—she ne’er had an occasion,