A widow fomewhat old, and very poor:

Deep in a cell her cottage lonely ftood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since laft fhe laid her husband in the ground,
A fimple sober life, in patience, led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread:
But hufwifing the little Heav'n had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.

The cattle in her homestead were three fows,
An ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlor-window ftuck with herbs around,
Of fav'ry fmell; and rufhes ftrew'd the ground.

A maple-dreffer in her hall fhe had,

On which full many a slender meal she made;
For no delicious morfel pafs'd her throat;
According to her cloth fhe cut her coat :
No poynant fauce she knew, nor coftly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat:
A fparing diet did her health affure;
Or fick, a pepper poffet was her cure.
Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle light to bed:
With exercise fhe fweat ill humors out,
Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout.
Her poverty was glad; her heart content,
Nor knew the what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely chear:

Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skim'd her

bowls)

And rashers of fing'd bacon on the coals.

On holy days an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reach'd to roaft.

A yard she had with pales enclos'd about, Some high, fome low, and a dry ditch without. Within this homeftead, liv'd, without a peer, For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer ;

So hight her cock, whose finging did surpass The merry notes of organs at the mass. More certain was the crowing of the cock To number hours, than is an abbey-clock; And fooner than the mattin-bell was rung, He clap'd his wings upon his rooft, and fung: For when degrees fifteen afcended right, By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night. High was his comb, and coral-red withal, In dents embattell'd like a castle wall; His bill was raven-black, and fhone like jet; Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet: White were his nails, like filver to behold, His body glitt'ring like the burnifh'd gold. This gentle cock, for folace of his life Six miffes had, besides his lawful wife; Scandal that fpares no king, tho ne'er fo good, Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood, His fifters both by fire and mother's fide; And fure their likenefs fhow'd them near ally'd. But make the worst, the monarch did no more, Than all the Ptolemys had done before: When inceft is for intereft of a nation, 'Tis made no fin by holy difpenfation.

Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone, Which by their common uglinefs are known.

But paffing this as from our tale apart, Dame Partlet was the fovereign of his heart: Ardent in love, outrageous in his play, He feather'd her a hundred times a day! And she that was not only paffing fair, But was withal difcreet, and debonair, Refolv'd the paffive doctrine to fulfil, Tho loth; and let him work his wicked will: At board and bed was affable and kind, According as their marriage-vow did bind, And as the church's precept had injoin'd. Ev'n fince she was a fennight old, they say, Was chafte and humble to her dying day, Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey.

By this her husband's heart fhe did obtain ; What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain! She was his only joy, and he her pride,

She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his fide;
If fpurning up the ground, he fprung a corn,
The tribute in his bill to her was born.

But oh! what joy it was to hear him fing
In fummer, when the day began to spring,
Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat,
Solus cum fola, then was all his note.

For in the days of yore, the birds of parts
Werebred to fpeak, and fing,and learn the lib'ral arts.

It happ'd that perching on the parlour-beam Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream,

Juft at the dawn; and figh'd, and groan'd fo faft,
As ev'ry breath he drew wou'd be his laft.
Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his fide,

Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cry'd
For help from Gods and men: and fore aghast
She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last.
Dear heart, faid fhe, for love of Heav'n declare
Your pain, and make me partner of your care.
You groan, Sir, ever fince the morning-light,
As fomething had disturb'd your noble spright.
And madam, well I might, faid Chanticleer,
Never was fhrovetide-cock in fuch a fear.
Ev'n ftill I run all over in a fweat,

My princely fenfes not recover'd yet.
For fuch a dream I had of dire portent,
That much I fear my body will be shent:
It bodes I fhall have wars and woful ftrife,
Or in a loathfome dungeon end my life.
Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breast,
That in our yard I faw a murd'rous beast,
That on my body would have made arrest.
With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow ;
His color was betwixt a red and yellow: