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Next, may your duck and teeming hen Both to the cocks-tread say, Amen ; And for their two egs render ten.
Last, may your harrows, shares, and ploughes, Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mowes, All prosper by your virgin-vowes.
Alas ! we blesse, but see none here That brings us either ale or beere ; In a drie-house all things are neere.
Let's leave a longer time to wait, Where rust and cobwebs bind the gate ; And all live here with needy fate;
Where chimneys do for ever weepe, For want of warmth, and stomachs keepe With noise the servants eyes from sleep.
It is in vain to sing, or stay
Our free feet here, but we '1 away;
Yet to the lares this we 1 say:
The time will come, when you '1 be sad, And reckon this for fortune bad, Tave lost the good ye might have had. |
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