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OATES
WELL THRESH'T.
Being a Dialogue of Country-make
Betwixt a Farmer, and his Man-Boy, Jack.
The Good Man, who had lost much by the Grain,
Hears Presbyter-Jack to Plead for it in vain.
The Tune, Which no Body can deny, etc.
The Burden must be Twice Repeated.
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Jack.
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OUr Oates, last Week not worth a Groat,
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Have, Sir, (which all do wonder at)
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Abomination thriv'd of late;
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Which no Body can deny, Sir.
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Master.
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Be all the Tribe of Oates Accurs't,
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And the Old Dotard too, that first
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The Brat within his Hedges nurst,
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And sow'd such Wicked Seed, Boy.
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Jack.
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Good Master, pray your Fury stop;
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For, as the Saying is, I hope,
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You'll shortly see a Doctor-Crop,
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And many more besides, Sir.
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Master.
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A Curse on everything, that's height Oates,
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Both Old & Young, both Black & White Oates,
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Both Long & Short, both Light & Tite Oates:
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I hate the Vip'rous Breed, Boy.
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Jack.
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Your Oates, now Ripe, Sir, do appear;
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For they begin to hang the Ear;
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The Time of Cutting them draws near,
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If my Skill fails me not, Sir.
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Master.
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Then down with 'em, and all their Train;
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Let not a Blade of them remain,
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Our poor Land to infect again;
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pitty one should scape, Boy.
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Jack.
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Where shall I reek them, (the Sithe's Edge
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They've felt) in Barn, or under Hedge?
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For they are fit for Cart, or Sledge,
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And a Roping only want, Sir[.]
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Master.
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E'en if thou wilt, lodge them in thy Barn;
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For they shall ne'r come amongst my Corn;
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Or Cart them, if thou wilt, to Tyburn;
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And there too Truss them up, Boy[.]
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