PRINTED BY ROBERT AND ANDREW FOULIS M.DCC.LXXI.
THERE liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow fomewhat old, and very poor:
Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale i found,
Since laft the laid her husband in the ground,
A fimple fober life in patience led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread:
But housewifing the little heav'n had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinch'd her belly with her daughter too,
To bring the year about with much ado.
The cattle in her homestead were three fows,
An ewe call'd Mally; and three brinded cows.
Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around,
Of fav'ry fmell; and rushes strew'd the ground.
A maple-dreffer, in her hall fhe had,
On which full many a slender meal fhe made:
For no delicious morfel pafs'd her throat;
According to her cloth fhe cut her coat :
No poynant fauce the knew, no costly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat":
A fparing diet did her health affure;
Or fick, a pepper-poffet was her cure.
Before the day was done her work she sped,
And never went by candle-light to bed:
With exercife she sweat ill humours out,
Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout.
Her poverty was glad; her heart content,
Nor knew the what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tafted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely cheer;
Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skim'd her bowls)
And rafhers of fing'd bacon, on the coals.
On holy days, an egg or two at most;
But her ambition never reach'd to roaft..
A yard fhe had with pales enclos'd about,
Some high, fome low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead, liv'd without a peer,
For crowing loud, the noble chanticleer:
So hight her cock, whose finging did furpafs
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of a cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And fooner than the matin-bell was rung,
He clap'd his wings upon his rooft, and fung:
For when degrees fifteen afcended right,
By fure inftinct he knew 'twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral red withal,
In dents embattel'd like a castle-wall;
His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet,
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet:
White were his nails, like filver to behold,
His body glitt'ring like the burnish'd gold.
This gentle cock for folace of his life,
Six miffes had befide his lawful wife;
Scandal that fpares no king, tho' ne'er fo good,
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood:
His fifters both by fire, and mother's fide,
And fure their likeness fhew'd them near ally'd.
But make the worst, the monarch did no more,
Than all the Ptolemeys had done before:
When incest is for int'reft of a nation,
'Tis made no fin by holy difpenfation.
Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone,
Which by their common ugliness are known.
But paffing this as from our tale apart,
Dame Partlet was the fovereign of his heart:
Ardent in love, outrageous in his play,
He feather'd her a hundred times a day:
And she that was not only paffing fair,
But was withal difcreet, and debonnair,
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