Around the blazing kitchen fire.
Then to beguile away the time,
He tells the kitchen nymphs his tale;
His left hand bears some doggrel rhyme,
And in his right—a pot of ale.
And hard must be that kitchen fair,
Who could his am’rous tale neglect;
And often Moll or Jenny dare,
For him some stouter swain reject.
Then weary to his garret hies,