Page:Unfortunate son, or, A kind wife is worth gold.pdf/12

 :glory of his victory. And let the butter-milk ſo churn‘d,
 * upon the dunghill lie,

Not knowing otherwiſe than he
 * had kill’d the cog outright,

Thus mony men miſtaken be,
 * comparing white to white,

But at laſt the woman came,
 * and to her huſband went,

Then like a kind and loving wife
 * ſhe told him her intent,

She ſaid, good huſband, do come in,
 * my father is in bed.

Alas! ſaid he, ill luck hath been,
 * and I am almoſt dead.

The white dog on the dunghill lay,
 * and I miſtook the mark,

I took him for a pot of whey,
 * as well I night in the dark.

He faſten’d on me in ſuth ſort,
 * that ſore he hath me bit,

Poor man, ſaid ſhe, I’m ſorry for ’t,
 * but let me tell you yet,

A pot of butter-milk ſat
 * upon the dunghill there.

And, ’cauſe you ſhould not it forget,
 * I ſpread a cloth moſt fair.

Alas! ſaid he, I saw it not,
 * ſure good luck I have none.

For ſure it was the butter-milk pot
 * that I ſo beat upon.