Both Men and Women listen well, A merry Jest I will you tell, Betwixt a Good man and his Wife, Who fell the other day at strife: He chid her for her Huswivery, And she found fault as well as he, With him for's work without the door, Quoth he (_we'l quarrel thus no more_) Sith you and I cannot agree, Let's change the work. Content, quoth she, My Wheel and Distaffe here take thow, And I will drive the Cart and Plow. This was concluded 'twixt them both, To Cart and Plow the good-wife goeth, The Good man he at home doth tarry, To see that nothing doth miscarry. An apron he before him put, Judge, was not this a handsome slut. He fleets[F. 1] the Milk, he makes the Chese, He gropes[F. 2] the Hens, the Ducks, & Geese, He Brews and Bakes as well as he Can, But not as it should be done, poor man: As he did make his Cheese one day, Two Pigs their Bellies broke with whey; Nothing that he in hand did take, Did come to good; once he did Bake, And burnt the Bread as black as a stock, Another time he went to Rock The Cradle, and threw the child o' th' floor, And broke his Nose, and hurt it sore. He went to milk one Eventide A Skittish Cow on the wrong side, His pail was full of Milk, God wot, She Kickt and spilt it every jot. Besides she hit him a blost o' th' face Which was scant well in six weeks space. Thus was he served, and yet too well And more mischances yet befell. Before his apron he'd leave off, Though all his neighbours did him scoff. Now list and mark one pretty jest, 'Twill make you laugh above all the rest, As he to churn his Butter went, One Morning with a good intent, The Cot[F. 3] Quean fool did surely dream, For he had quite forgot the Cream, He churn'd all Day with all his might, And yet he could get no Butter at night. 'Twere strange indeed for me to utter That without Creame he should make Butter. Now having shew'd his huswivery, Who did all things thus untowardly, Unto the good-wife I'll turn my Rhime, And tell you how she spent her time; She us'd to drive the Cart and Plow, But do't well she Knew not how, She made so many banks i' th' ground, He been better have given five pound That she had never ta'ne in hand So sorely did she spoil the Land. As she did go to Sow likewise, She made a Feast for Crows and Pies, She threw away a hanful at a Place, And left all bare another Space. At the Harrow she could not rule the Mare But hid one Land, and left two bare. And shortly after, one a day, As she came home with a Load of Hay She overthrew it, nay, and worse She broke the Cart, and Kill'd a Horse: The good-man that time had ill luck, He let in the Sow, and Kill'd a Duck, And being grieved at his heart, For loss on's Duck, his Horse and Cart, The many hurts on both sides done, His eyes did with salt water run; Then now, quoth he, full well I see The Wheel's for her, the Plow's for me,