Upon Cock.

Since Gander did his pretty youngling wed,
Gander, they say, doth each night piss a-bed:
What is the cause? Why, Gander will reply,
No goose lays good eggs that is trodden dry.

        Once an old hen led forth her brood
        To scratch and glean and peck for food;
        A chick, to give her wings a spell,
        Fluttered and tumbled in a well.
        The mother wept till day was done,
        When she met with a grown-up son,
        And thus addressed him: - "My dear boy,
        Your years and vigour give me joy:
        You thrash all cocks around, I'm told;
        'Tis right, cocks should be brave and bold:
        But never - fears I cannot quell -
        Never, my son, go near that well;
        A hateful, false, and wretched place,
        Which is most fatal to my race.
        Imprint that counsel on your breast,
        And trust to providence the rest."

        He thanked the dame's maternal care,
   ...

The eggs of pheasants wry-nosed Tooly sells,
But ne'er so much as licks the speckled shells:
Only, if one prove addled, that he eats
With superstition, as the cream of meats.
The cock and hen he feeds; but not a bone
He ever picked, as yet, of anyone.

Bell-man of night, if I about shall go
For to deny my Master, do thou crow!
Thou stop'st Saint Peter in the midst of sin;
Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin;
Better it is, premonish'd, for to shun
A sin, than fall to weeping when 'tis done.

Though clock,
To tell how night draws hence, I've none,
A cock
I have to sing how day draws on:
I have
A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent,
To save
That little, Fates me gave or lent.
A hen
I keep, which, creeking day by day,
Tells when
She goes her long white egg to lay:
A goose
I have, which, with a jealous ear,
Lets loose
Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.
A lamb
I keep, tame, with my morsels fed,
Whose dam
An orphan left him, lately dead:
A cat
I keep, that plays about my house,
Grown fat
With eating many a miching mouse:
To these
A Trasy I do keep, whereby
I please
The more my rural privacy:
Which are
But toys, to give my heart some ease:
Where care
None is, slight things do li...

Her pretty feet
Like snails did creep
A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-peep,
Did soon draw in again.