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He croffed hath this, and eke he croffed that,
With benedicite and God knows what.

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

Hem thinketh that fome murdere here been done,
And he mought fee fome bloodye ghost anone,
Or that some orphlines writings here be stor❜d,
Or pot of gold laine deep beneath a board:
Or thinketh hem, if he might fee no fprite,
The Abbaye mought buy this houfe cheap outright.
As hem thus thinketh, anone afleep he lies,
Up ftarten Sathanas with faucer eyes.

He turned the Freer upon his face downright,
Difplaying 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 croffed 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 erfe,
On earth the Devil in Freers doth ydwell;

Were there no Freers, the Devil mought keep in Hell.

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WORK FOR A COOPER.

A TAL E.

A MAN 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 difh commend;
On Bagshot-heath your mutton fed,
Your fowls at Brentford born and bred;
Though pureft wine your cellars boaft,
Wine worthy of the faireft toaft;
Yet there are other things requir❜d :
Ring, and let's fee the maid you hir'd.--
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 fervile use to sweep;
Let her his humour understand,
And turn to every thing her hand.
Get you a lafs that 's young and tight,
Whofe arms are, like her apron, white.
What though her fhift be feldom seen,
Let that, though coarfe, be always clean;

She might each morn your tea attend,
And on your wrift your ruffle mend;

Then,

Then, if you break a roguish jeft,
Or fqueeze 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 houfhold cares confide,
Let your keys jingle at her fide.

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 mafter's use.

Will you your amorous fancy baulk,
For fear fome prudifh neighbour talk!
But you'll object, that you 're afraid
Of the pert freedoms of a maid.
Befides, your wifer heads will fay,
That the who turns her hand this way,
From one vice to another drawn,
Will lodge your filver-fpoons 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-fuits fhe flings away,
And wears thread-fattin every day.

Who then a dirty drab would hire,
Brown as the hearth of kitchen-fire;
When all muft own, were Betty put
To the black duties of the flut,
As well fhe fcours or fcrubs a floor,
And ftill is good for fomething more?

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shopater vice,
conscience nice,
ghbour's spouse,

in his house.
ent all this time,
curfe my rhyme.
talk no more,

te begins-Of yore
Blois a Prieft full fair,

geye and crisped hair ;
hong low, his brow was fleek,
baking on his cheek;

gla baking

Nkdays at

cloyster-grates he fate, and talk'd of this and that ngly, the Nuns lamented double-bars

were e'er invented. The the wanton wife confest,

h downcaft eye, and heaving breast; flroak'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 goffip's feaft

Pere Bernard was a welcome guest;
Mirth fuffer'd not the leaft reftraint,
He could at will shake off the faint;
Nor frown'd he when they freely spoke,
But fhook his fides, and took the joke;
Nor fail'd he to promote the jeft,
And fhar'd the fins which they confest.

Yet,

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 houfhold cares,
To her confign'd his whole affairs:
She of his study kept the keys,
For he was ftudious-of his ease:
She had the power of all his locks,
Could rummage every cheft 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 hogfheads all a-row.
One veffel, from the rank remov'd,
Far dearer than the reft he lov'd;
Pour la bonne bouche 'twas fet afide,
To all but choicest friends deny'd.
He now and then would fend a quart,
To warm fome wife's retentive heart,
Against confeffion's fullen hour:
Wine has all fecrets 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 fo fond was grown,
He always drank it when-alone.

Who fhall recount his civil labours,
In pious vifits to his neighbours ?

Whene'er

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