Page:Bad wife (1).pdf/5



the maid of Lodi,
 * Who sweetly sung to me,

Whose brows were never cloudy,
 * Nor e'er distort with glee.

She values not the wealthy,
 * Unless they're great and good,

For she is strong and healthy,
 * And by labour earns her food.

And when her day's work's over;
 * Around a cheerful fire,

She sings, or rests contented;
 * What more can man desire?

Let those who squander millions
 * Review her happy lot,

They'll find their proud pavilions
 * Far inferior to her cot.

Between the Po and Parma
 * Some villains seiz'd my coach,

And dragg'd me to a cavern,
 * Most dreadful to approach;

By which the maid of Lodi
 * Came trotting from the fair;

She paus'd to hear my wailings,
 * And see me tear my hair.

Then to her market basket
 * She tied her poney's rein;