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He crofled hath this, and ekę he crossed that,
With benedicite and God knows what.

Now he goeth to bed and lieth adown,
When the clock had just stricken the twelfth soun.
Bethinketh him now what the cause had ybeen,
Why many sprites by mortals have been seen.
Hem remembreth how Dan Plutarch hath ysed
That Cæsar's sprite came to Brute his bed;
Of chains that frighten erst Artemidore,
The tales of Pline, Valere, and many more.

Hem thinketh that some murdere here been done,
And he mought see some bloodye ghost anone,
Or that some orphlines writings here be storid,

pot of gold laine deep beneath a board : Or thinketh hem, if he might see no sprite, The Abbaye mought buy this house cheap outright.

As hem thus thinketh, anone asleep he lies, Up starten Sathanas with saucer eyes. He turned the Freer upon his face downright, Displaying his nether cheeks full broad and white. Then quoth Dan Sathanas as he thwacked him fore, Thou didft forget to guard thy postern-dore. There is an hole which hath not crossed been : Farewel, from whence I came, I creepen in.

Now plain it is ytellen in my verse, If Devils in hell bear Freers in their erse, On earth the Devil in Freers doth ydwell ; Were there no Freers, the Devil mought keep in Hell.


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A T A L E. AMAN may lead a happy life,

Without that needful thing a wife : This long have lufty Abbots known, Who ne'er knew fpoufes---of their own.

What though your house be clean and neat, With couches, chairs, and beds compleat; Though you each day invite a friend, Though he should every dish commend; On Bagshot-heath your mutton fed, Your fowls at Brentford born and bred ; Though purest wine your cellars boast, Wine worthy of the faireft toast; Yet there are other things requir'd: Ring, and let 's fee the maid


Bless me! those hands might hold a broom,
Twirl round a mop, and wash a room :
A batchelor his maid should keep,
Not for that servile use to sweep;
Let her his humour understand,
And turn to every thing her hand.
Get you a lafs that 's young and tight,
Whose arms are, like her apron,

What though her fhift be feldom seen,
Let that, though coarse, be always clean ;
She might each morn your tea attend,


ruffle mend;

And on your


Then, if you break a roguilh jest,
Or squeeze her hand, or pat her breast,
She cries, Oh, dear Sir, don't be naught!
And blushes speak her last night's fault.
To her your houshold cares confide,
Let your keys jingle at her side.
A footman's blunders teaze and fret ye;
Ev’n while you chide, you smile on Betty,
Discharge him then, if he's too spruce ;
For Betty 's for his master's use.

Will you your amofous fancy baulk,
For fear some prudith neighbour talk !
But you 'll object, that you 're afraid
Of the pert freedoms of a maid.
Besides, your wiser heads will fay,
That she who turns her hand this way,
From one vice to another drawn,
Will lodge your filver-spoons in pawn.
Has not the homely wrinkled jade
More need to learn the pilfering trade ?
For love all Betty's wants supplies,
Laces her shoes, her manteau dyes,
All her stuff-suits she flings away,
And wears thread-fattin every day.

Who then a dirty drab would hire,
Brown as the hearth of kitchen-fire ;
When all must own, were Betty put
To the black duties of the slut,
As well she scours or scrubs a floor,
And still is good for something more!

B 4


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Pront all this time,
*pki curse my rhyme.

talk no more,
how, Blois a Priest full fair,
2. and talk'd of this and that

mwingly, the Nuns lamented

van mighbour's spouse, a tu te begins--Of yore

inte rive and crisped hair ; witrag low, his brow was sleek,

on his cheek;

cloyster-grates he fate, Dus vouble-bars were e'er invented.

in the wanton wife confest, widowncast eye, and heaving breast;

ftroak'd her cheek to still her fear,
And talk'd of fins en cavalier ;
Each time enjoin'd her penance mild,
And fondled on her like his child.
At every jovial gollip's feast
Pere Bernard was a welcome guest;
Mirth fuífer'd not the least restraint,
He could at will shake off the saint;
Nor frown'd he when they freely spoke,
But shook his sides, and took the joke;
Nor fail'd he to promote the jeft,
And shar'd the fins which they confeft.

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Yet, that he might not always roam,
He kept conveniencies at home.
His maid was in the bloom of beauty,
Well-limb'd for every social duty;
He meddled with no houshold cares,
To her confign'd his whole affairs :
She of his study kept the keys,
For he was studious-of his ease :
She had the power of all his locks,
Could rummage every chest and box;
Her honesty such credit gain'd,
Not ev’n the cellar was restrain'd.

In troth it was a goodly show,
Lin'd with full hogsheads all a-row.
One vessel, from the rank remov'd,
Far dearer than the reft he lov'd;
Pour la bonne bouche 'twas set aside,
To all but choicet friends deny’d.
He now and then would send a quart,
To warm fome wife's retentive heart,
Against confession's fullen hour :
Wine has all secrets in its power.
At common feasts it had been waste,
Nor was it fit for layman's taste.
If monk or friar were his guest,
They drank it; for they know the best.
Nay, he at length so fond was grown,
He always drank it when--alone.

Who shall recount his civil labours,
In pious visits to his neighbours?


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