Than he began to chide and seyd, "Evelle mott thou the! I wolde thou shuldes alle day go to plowe with me,

To walke in the clottes that be wette and mer£,

Than sholdes thou wytt what it were a plowman to bee."

Than sware the goodwyff, and thus gane she say, "I have mor to doo then I doo may;

And ye shuld folowe me ffoly on day,

Ye wold be wery off your part, my hede dar I lay."

"Wery! yn the devylles nam!" seyd the goodman,
"What hast thou to doo, but syttes her at name?
Thou goyst to thi neybores bowse, be on and be one,
And syttes ther janglynge with Jake an with John."

Than sayd the goodwyffe, "feyr mot yow ffaylle!
I have mor to do, who so wyst alle;
Whyn I lye in my bede, my slepe is butt smalle,
Yett eyrly in the morneng ye wylle me up calls.

"When I lye al nyght wakyng with our cheylde,
I rose up at morow and fynde owr howse wylde;
Then I melk owre kene and torne them on the felde,
Whylle yow slepe ffulle stylle, also Cryst me schelde!

"Than make I buter ferther on the day;

After make I chose,-thes holde yow a play;

Then wylle owre cheldren wepe and upemost they,
Yett wylle yow blame me for owr good, and any be away.

"Whan I have so done, yet ther comes more eene,
I geve our chekyns met, or elles they wylb[e] leyne :
Our hennes, our capons, and owr dokkes be-dene,
Yet tend I to owr goslyngs that gothe on the grene.

"I bake, I brew, yt wylle not elles be welle;

I bete and swyngylle flex, as ever have I heylle:

I hekylle the towe, I kave and I keylle,

I toose owlle and card het and spyn net on the wheylle."

"Dame," 9ed the goodman, "the develle have thy bones!
Thou nedyst not bake nor brew in fortnyght past ones;
I say no good that thou dost within thes wyd wonys,
But ever thow excusyst the with grontes and gronys."

"Yefe a pece off lenyn and women I make onys a yere,
For to clothe owre self and owr cheldren in fere;
Elles we shold go to the market, and by het ful deer,
I ame as bossy as I may in every [here.]

"Whan I have so donne, I loke on the sonne,

I ordene met for owr bestes agen that yow come home,
And met ffor owr selfe agen het be none,

Yet I have not a ffeyr word whan I have done.

"Soo I loke to owr good withowt and withyn, That ther be none awey noder mor nor myn,

Glade to pies yow to pay, lest any bate begyn,

And fort to chid thus with me, i-feyght yow be in synne."

Then sed the goodman in a sory tyme,

"Alle thys wold a good howsewyf do long ar het were prime; And sene the good that we have is halfe dele thyn, Thow shalt laber for thy part as I doo for myne."

"Therffor, dame, make the redy, I warne the, alone, To morow with my lade to the plowe thou shalt gone; And I wylbe howsewyfe and kype owr howse at home,

And take myn ese as thou hast done, by God and Seint John!"

"I graunt," quod the goodwyfe, "as I wnderstonde,

To morowe in the morning I wylbe walkande :

Yet wylle I ryse whylle ye be slepande,

And see that alle theng be redy led to your hand."

Soo it past alle to the morow that het was dayleyght;
The goodwyffe thoght on her ded and upe she rose ryghti
"Dame," said the goodmane, "I swere be Godes myght!
I wylle fette bom owr bestes, and helpe that the wer deght."

The goodman to the feeld hyed hym fulle yarne;
The godwyfe made butter, her dedes war fulle derne,

She toke ayen the butter-melke and put bet in the cheyrne,
And seid yet off on pynt owr syer shalbe to lerne.

Home come the goodman and toke good kype,
How the wyfe had layd her flesche for to stepe:
She sayd, "Sir, al thes day ye ned not to slepe,
Kype wylle owr chelderne and let them not wepe.

"Yff yow goo to the kelme malt for to make,
Put smal feyr ondernethe, sir, for Godes sake;
The kelme is lowe and dry, good tend that ye take,
For and het fastyn on a feyr it wylb[e] eville to blake.

"Her site ij. gese abrode, kype them wylle from woo,
And thei may com to good, that wylle wesk sorow i-now."
"Dame," seid the goodmane, "hy the to the plowe,
Teche me no more howsewyfre, for I can i-nowe."

Forthe went the goodwyff, curtes and hende,
Sche callyd to her lade, and to the plowe they wend;
They wer besé al day, a fytte here I fynde,

And I had dronke ones, ye shalle heyre the best bebynd.

P. 48, l. 1. Lucy Locket. Lucy Locket and Kitty Fisher were two celebrated courtezans of the time of Charles II. It was to the tune of this nursery rhyme that the song of "Yankee Doodle" was written.

P. 49, l. 6. Bessy Bell and Mary Gray. These two stanzas are founded on the well-known Scotch story.

P. 51, l. 9. The first line is sometimes as follows:

"Robin a Bobbin, a Bilberry hen."

P. 52, l. 7. The merriment of Jack Horner has, I believe, long since departed from the modern series, and I therefore give the following copy of it from Douce's collection: "The History of Jack Horner, containing the witty pranks he play'd, from his youth to his riper years, being pleasant for Winter Evenings."

I.

Of his birth and education.

Jack Horner was a pretty lad,
near London he did dwell,

His father's heart he made full glad,
his mother loved him well.

She often sat him on her lap,

to turn him dry beneath,

And fed him with sweet sugar-pap,

because he had no teeth.

While little Jack was sweet and young,

if he by chance should cry,

His mother pretty sonnets sung,
with lulla-baby-by.

A pretty boy, a curious wit,

all people spoke in his praise,

And in the corner he would sit,
on Christmas holidays.

And said, Jack Horner in the corner,

eats good Christmas pye:

With his thumbs pulls out the plums,

crying what a good boy was I.

These pretty verses which he made

upon his Christmas cheer,

Did gain him love as it is said,
of all both far and near;

For lasses lov'd his company,

each day above another;

For why? they knew that he would be

a man before his mother.

Happy was she that could enjoy
from him one kind embrace;
Though once he was a little boy,
yet now he grows apace.

So few were like him far and near,
and match for him was none;
As being thirteen inches high,
a giant to Tom Thumb.

Whene'er he took a sword in hand,

he made his foes to bleed,

As you shall understand,

when you this story read.

II.

Jack frights a tailor for cabbaging cloth out of his coat.

Jack being twenty years of age,

liv'd with a worthy knight,

In manner of a pretty page,

to yield him much delight: