Page:Merry piper, or, The popish fryar & boy.pdf/9

 Sure had there been a cannon-ball,
 * with such a force it flow,

It would have beaten down the Wall,
 * perhaps the chimney too.

She gave another cursed look,
 * then straight her bum did roar;

At which the very table shook,
 * which sham'd her more and more.

The lad reply'd, dear mother, take
 * a cup before your parting,

For I am confident you'll break,
 * your twatling-strings with farting.

What it't you ail? at my command,
 * step mother tell me true,

Sure such a one in all the land,
 * before I never knew

The 'Squire cry'd you make us deaf,
 * wife take another room,

For fear you choke and stop your breath,
 * with such a strange perfume,

Immediately she went away,
 * with visage gross and grim;

Swearing that Jack for this should pay,
 * she'd be revenged on him.

A fryar whom she thought a saint,
 * came there to lodge that night,

To whom she made a sad complaint,
 * how Jack had sham'd her quite,

Said she, for sweet St. Francis's sake,
 * tomorrow in the field,

Thrash him till you his bones do break,
 * no show of pity yield.

The fryar swore by his bald pate,
 * he'd make him blind and lame

And not allow him for to prate,
 * when to the field he came.

Next morning with the early lark,
 * the little boy arose;