ROGER'S Delight:
OR,
The WEST-Country Christ'ning and Gossiping.
To an Excellent New Tune: Or, Cold and Raw.
Licensed according to Order.
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WHen Sol had left his weary Teams,
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and turn'd his Steeds a Grazing,
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Ten Fathom deep in Neptunes Streams,
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he his Thetis lay Embracing;
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The Stars tript in the Firmament,
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like School-Boys on a Play day;
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The Country Lasses a Mumming went,
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like Milk-maids on a May-day.
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Then apace grew on the Grey Morn,
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when the Herds-Man's Flocks were Lowing,
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And amongst the Poultry in the Barn,
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the Plow-Man's Cocks were Crowing;
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Whilst Roger he Dreamt of Golden Joys;
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was wak'd by a Revel rout, Sir,
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But Cicely she tells him he needs must rise,
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for his Juggy was crying out, Sir.
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Not half so merry the Cup went round,
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as the Tapping of good Ale-Ferkin,
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Then Roger his Hose and Shooes had found,
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and button'd his Leather Jerkin;
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Grey Mare was Saddl'd with wondrous speed,
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with Pillion and Buttock'd aright, Sir,
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And for an old Midwife away he rode,
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to bring the poor Kid to light, Sir.
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Oh good Mother! I pray get up,
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for the Fruits of my Labour it's now come,
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And there it lyes struggling in Juggys Womb,
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but it cannot get out till you come.
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I'll help her, quoth the old Hag, ne'er doubt,
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thy Juggy shall be well again, Boy,
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And Ise warrant that Ise get the Kid out
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as well as thou gottest it in, Boy.
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Gray Mare they mount, and away they ride,
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no Whip nor Spur was wanting;
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As soon as the old Hag entered the Room,
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then hoop cry'd out the Bantling:
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A Female Chit, so small it was born,
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you might put it into a Flaggon,
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And it must be Christen'd that very Morn,
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for fear it should die a Pagan.
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Then Robin and Doll, with constant Kate
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were Gossips for this great Christ'ning,
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And the good Wives did merrily prate,
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whilst Juggy in Bed lay list'ning:
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They talk'd of this, and they talk'd of that;
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of Chatting they was not sparing;
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Some said it was so small a Brat,
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that hardly it was worth the rearing.
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Then Roger he strutted about the Hall,
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as great as the Prince of Conde;
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What if her Parts they are but small,
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they will be bigger one Day:
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What if her Legs and Thighs lies close,
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as little as any Spider,
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You need not fear, e'er seventeen Years,
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she'll lig them a little wider:
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For then she'll be a Woman grown,
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I'll lay Five Pounds in Money,
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And have a little one of her own,
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as well as Jug my Honey:
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These will be joyful Days to see,
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I'll study for to advance her,
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That Juggy may a Granny be,
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then I shall be a Grandsire.
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The Nappy Ale went fairly round,
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as brown as any Berry,
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With which the good Wives being Crown'd,
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they all was Brisk and Me[r]ry:
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Whilst Roger he turn'd Cups over his Thumb
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to every honest Neighbour,
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Saying, A Twelve Month hence pray come,
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once more to my Juggys Labour.
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