A farmer near Felton, fam’d for vulgar fractions,

Both testy and stubborn in all his transactions;

With fraud and with falsehoods to litigate labours,

A plague to the public, and pest to his neighbours.

His BULL, this base brigand kept bound by the nose,

In a creek, on the confines of Coquet, that those

Cows which came across (thus decoy’d) to his corn,

The coin of their owners by craft to suborn.

He marry’d a maid with much money, as stated,

Both handsome, and harmless, yet heartily hated;

Hence hootings, and hissings, and banters beset her,

Because he his handmaid had long lov’d far better.

One sunday at dinner he saw of a sudden,

A human head hair peeping out of the pudding:

Though his minx mix’d the mass, made his spouse pluck it out,

And likewise submit to a buffetting bout.

One time when he wanted his fingers to warm,

She fronted the fire, and thought of no harm;

Her seat he upset, and she fell on the floor,

Depriv’d of her senses for more than an hour.

As he and his harlot one time sat at tea,

To taste a bit toast, his own matron made free;

For which misdemeanor his concubine cog’d her,

And for the offence he unfeelingly flog’d her.

One afternoon, ent’ring the parlour, he saw,

Expos’d on the carpet, prostrate, a piece straw;

His spouse he suspected for the foul offence,

And snatching the poker, depriv’d her of sense.

His children he taught with a dutiful grace,

To piss upon Mammy, and spit on her face;

And laugh when he lash’d her, ’till sickly and sore,

And in storms and in tempests turn’d her to the door.

With hunger and hardships, by bruises and blows,

His help-mate is render’d so lank and so low;

She seems to surrender the lease of her life,

And wind up the warfare of a wailing wife.