A New SONG calld
The Churlish Husband.
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ITS of an ancient Farmer you hear without delay,
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And he went out unto his plow upon a stormy day,
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The rain and wind did blow so hard he could no longer stay,
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But home he ran like one stark mad and to his wife did say;
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Dear wife you and your children do live at home in ease,
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You little think of any work you do just as you please,
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But you shall take it turn about or I will break your bones,
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For in the morning you shall go to plow with my man John.
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His wife she was contented her husband for to please,
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So she to plow with John did go to keep the house at ease,
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She says John you shall hold the plow and I the team will drive,
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My husband he shall stay at home no fear but we shall thrive.
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She rose up early in the morn to plow with John she went,
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And left her husband warm in bed the children for to tent;
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But presently he did get up to give the child a clout,
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The sow and pigs they all got in and sh-t the house about.
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The pigs they wanted serving as we have often seen,
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They got into the dairy and filld themselves with cream;
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The milk pans and the cream pots they knocked them about,
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Besides the churn they did drive down before he got em out.
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O then he got the churn-staff to drive out all the pigs,
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Some he hit, and some he missd, and some he broke their legs,
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But still he drove them on, swore death should be their doom,
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The sow she turnd her head about and bit him by the thumb.
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He went into the parlour for to tie up his hand,
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The children they lay squalling and calling out for mam,
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Your mammy she is gone to plow and I am almost dead,
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One child fell out upon the floor the other fould the bed.
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When he had cleand the child again and put it into bed,
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He then fetched the spinning-wheel for to begin his trade,
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But while he washed a clout and hung the same to dry,
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His tow took fire and burnt the wfieel his work went all awry.
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This tired him of womens work it went with him so cross,
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He swore he would to plow again he would no more be
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nurse;
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When out he ran like one stark mad to call his wife from plow,
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But John he was kissing her behind the barley-mow.
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Come all you churlish husbands a warning take by me,
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Content yourselves with your own work or Cuckolds you
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will be,
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For I have tryd the womans work and like my own the best,
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So be not churls unto your wives tho you do see them rest.
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