The Lancashire Cuckold:
OR, THE
Country Parish-Clark betray'd by a Conjurer's Inchanted Chamber-pot.
To the Tune of, Fond Boy, etc.
Licensed according to Order,
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A Lancashire Farmer he had a fair Wife,
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Whom the Clark of the Parish did love as life;
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In the pleasures of Love they would frolick and play,
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Now her kind loving Husband grew jealous they say:
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To a cunning Man therefore the Farmer did go,
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To be told whether he was a Cuckold or no.
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The Conjurer cry'd, If my counsel you'll take,
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Then tomorrow right pleasant good sport I will make,
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For I have a strong Charm that will lock them all fast,
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And as pleasant a Pipe, that at every blast,
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All that hears it shall caper and dance too and fro,
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And you'll find by this if you'r Cuckold or no.
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Go tell your kind Wife you must ride out with speed,
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And you shall not return till the next day indeed;
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Now to keep yourself warm take your cloak and your gown;
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There's an old hollow Oak half a mile out of Town,
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In that very same Tree if you lodge but all night,
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The next morning I'll show you a delicate sight.
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The Farmer resolving this project to try,
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With the Conjurer's humour he straight did comply;
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Having told his sweet Wife he must ride out of Town,
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She began with a sorrowful sigh to look down:
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Yet his back being turn'd, for her Gallant she sent,
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That all night they might revel in joys with content.
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Against the Clark's coming, a capon she drest,
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Unto which they had humming March beer of the best,
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When the Supper was ended, to bed they did high,
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All the night in their wanfon imbraces to lye;
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But before the next morning there was a strange rout,
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Which the cunning Man he by his Charms brought about.
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The Conjuring-Schollar got in by his skill,
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Where he lay full as safe as a Thief in a Mill;
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In the Piss-pot he fixt such a Charm at the last,
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That who e'er toucht the same should be sure to stick fast;
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Now the Clark to make water near morning did rise,
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Then the Piss-pot was lockt fast betwixt his two thighes
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The Farmer's far Wife she rose up in her shift,
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For to help her poor Lover out at a dead lift;
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On his delicate Dildoul her right hand she got,
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With the left hand she seiz'd on the side of the Pot,
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Where she tug'd and she pull'd till she made her arms ake,
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For she likewise stuck fast like a Bear to a stake.
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In this sad distress with her foot she did knock,
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Then her Daughter she straightways run up in her smock.
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Quoth the Mother, Girl, help us and make no excuse,
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Sure the Pot is bewitch'd for we cannot get loose;
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Pretty Nancy endeavour'd to set them both free,
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But as soon as she touch'd it they stuck there all three.
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The cunning Man open'd the door, being day,
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On his Conjuring pipe he began for to play;
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Naked all but their shifts they did caper and dance
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Through the Town, till they met with a Tailor by chance,
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Who would needs break the Pot, being lusty and strong,
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But he stuck fast and likewise went dancing along.
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He piping did lead them along the highway,
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Till they came to a place where her Husband he lay;
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Who when hearing a noise, he peep'd out of the Oak
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Like a Man that was frighted, the first words he spoke,
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He cry'd, What my friend Richard the good Parish-Clark,
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Is it you then that tickles my Wife in the dark.
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Now when they had caper'd three times round the Oak,
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Then the Spell or Enchantment immediately broke;
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The poor Tailor he run, but the Clark staid behind.
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Quoth the Farmer, By you I'm a Cuckold I find;
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If for this foul offence, I am not satisfy'd,
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I'll immediately whip out your nutmegs, he cry'd.
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The Clark he did proffer to give him ten pound,
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For it was but a trespass, he said, on his ground;
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But the Farmer no less then a hundred would have,
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And the other did give it his Nutmegs to save;
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Their apparel was sent for, and when they were drest,
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They went all to the Ale-house, and laug'd at the jest.
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