The Glover's Wife was in a heat, and did both pout and mump, Because they would not let her eat the Buttock and the Rump. As for the merry Weaver's Wife, I will give her her due, She spent her Coyne to end the strife among that joviall Crew. This Colt was not so wholsome though as was a good fat Hogg, Yet one came in and told the crew it was a mangie Dogg! But he that told them was to blame, and was but a silly Dolt, The Tapster bid him peace for Shame for 'twas a good fat Colt. The Colt he cost me eighteen pence, the Tapster he did say, I hope good Folks 'ere you goe hence, you for your Meate will pay. Pox take you for a Rogue quoth one, another, he fel'd oaks, Another said he was undone! 'twas worse than Harty Choaks. The Porter he did give nine pence to have it in a Pye, The People ere they went from thence did feed most hartily: It was the joviall Baker, and knavish Tapster too, The Car-man was pertaker was not this a Joviall crew. The Potecary he was there, _Farr_ and the Sexton too, The Tapster put them in great fear, he made them for to spue. Now was not this a knave ingrain, to use his Neighbours so, When knaves are scarce, hee'l go for twain, good People, what think you. The Tapster he came in at last, and gave the People vomits, I hope, (quoth he,) the worst is past, I have eased your foule Stomacks; Wea-hea cry'd the Tapster then, how doe you like my sport, The Women said, so did the Men, the Devill take you for't. At _Brainford_ as I heard some say a mangie Dog was eate: This was not halfe so bad as that, and yet the fault was great: Men of good fashon then was there that went both fine and brave Now all do say, that this doth heare, the Tapster is a knave. FINIS. _London_, Printed for _William Gammon_, and to be sould in _Smithfield_. [61.] There fell a great dispute betwixt _Jockey_ a _Scotchman_, and _Jenkin_ a _Welch man_, and the subject of it was about the fruitfullnesse of their Countries, and thus _Jockey_ began. There was not a braver, fruitfuller Country in the world than _Leith_ in _Scotland_: The _Welch man_ answered him again, Picot, that was false, for there was no place so full of all sorts of fruite, as was in Wales. _Jockey_ replyed again, that he knew a piece of ground in _Scotland_ where the grass grew up so suddenly that if you throw a Staff in it over night, in that time the pasture would so over grow it, that you could not see it again the next morning. But _Jenkin_ hearing this, with a great Scorne made him this answer, Py _Saint Taffe_ that the throwing so small a thing as a Staff was nothing, for (quoth _Shinkin_) we have divers pieces of Cround in our Contry, that if you turn your Horse into them, you shall not see him next Morning.