Till he came to his landlord's house, And he paid him his whole year's rent. He opened this rogue's portmantle, It was glorious for to behold; There was five hundred pound in money, And other five hundred in gold. His landlord it made him to stare, When he did the sight behold; "Where did thou get the white money, And where get the yellow gold?" "I met a fond fool by the way, I swopped horses, and gave him no boot; But never mind," says the old man, "I got a fond fool by the foot." "But now you're grown cramped and old, Nor fit for to travel about;" "O, never mind," says the old man, "I can give these old bones a route!" As he was a-riding hame, And a-down a narrow lane, He spied his mare tied to a tree, And said, "Tib, thou'lt now gae hame." And when that he got hame, And told his old wife what he'd done: She rose and she donned her clothes, And about the house did run. She sung, and she danced, and sung, And she sung with a merry devotion, "If ever our daughter gets wed, It will help to enlarge her portion!" THE WEEK'S WORK |When I was a bachelor brave, Enjoying all my soul could have, My silver and guineas I then let fly, I cock'd up my beaver, and who but I. Fal, lal, &c. I rov'd about, and I rov'd a while, Till all the ladies seem'd to smile, From the ladies of pleasure to royal Joan, Both gentle and simple was all my own. My rapier was made of the Bilbo blade, My coat and waistcoat were overlaid With silver spangles so neat and so gay, As tho' I had been king of some country play. Besides I had a flattering tongue, The ladies admired me when I sung, For I had a voice so charming and fine, That every lady's heart was mine. On Monday morning I married a wife, And thought to have liv'd a sober life, But as it fell out I had better been dead, Then mark the time that I was wed. On Tuesday morn to my surprise, A little before the sun did rise, She tun'd up her clapper, and scolded more, Than ever I heard in my life before. On Wednesday morn I went to the wood, I thought in my heart she'd never be good, I cut me a twig of the holly green, I think 'twas the toughest ever seen, I brought it home, and laid it by. On Thursday I went the same to try, And if she would no better be, The devil might take her to-morrow, for me. On Friday morn, to my surprise, A little before the sun did rise, She tun'd up her clapper in a scolding tune, And now you shall hear we parted soon. On Saturday morn, as I may say, As she, on her pillow, consulting lay; The devil came in the midst of the game, And took her away both blind and lame. On Sunday, friends, I can dine without A scolding wife, or a brawling out, Enjoying my bottle, and my best friend, And is not this a noble week's-work end. FARMER'S BOY |The sun went down beyond yon hills, Across yon dreary-moor,