Page:Comical history of the collier's wedding.pdf/17

 17 She's burnt her apron, ſing'd her clothes;

The dinner will be ſpoilt ſhe cries;

That gooſe will not be half enough,

The beef is old and will be tough;

Here laſs, fome flour to dridge the veal;

I wiſh your dinner at the de'il;

Come take your ſeats, and ſtand, away,

Good God! the baker's burnt the pies,

My laddle has not room to play,

The hens and cocks are juſt laid down,

I never thought you'd come ſo ſoon,

And thus, with ſuch like noiſe and din.

The wedding banquet does begin,

Impatient for the want of meat,

They ſneak and cannot keep their ſeat,

Play on the plates, drum on the table,

And faſt as long as they are able;

Then count the number of their knives,

And who is there who has not wives;

Unfold the napkins, lay them down,

Then tell the letters of a ſpoon,

Some eat the bread ſome lik the ſa't;

Some drink, and other's find ſome fault.

Diſorder is in every place;

And hungry looks in every face;

In ſhort they cou'd no longer put

For belly thinks the throat is cut?

They damn and ſink, and curſe the cook,

And give her many a frightful look;

They call her bitch, and jade, and ſow:

She ſays ſhe does what ſire can do:

And thus their guts diſturb and vex em,