Classic Poem

When Sol had loosed his weary teams,
And turned his steeds a-grazing,
Ten fathom deep in Neptune's streams
His Thetis lay embracing;
The stars tripped in the firmament
Like milkmaids on a May-day,
Or country lasses a-mumming sent,
Or schoolboys on a play-day.

When apace grew on the grey-eyed morn,
The herds in fields were lowing,
And 'mongst the poultry in the barn
The ploughman's cock was crowing;
When Roger, dreaming of golden joys,
Was waked by a revel rout, sir,
And Cicely told him he needs must rise,
For his Juggy was crying out, sir.

Not half so merry the cups go round
At the tapping a good ale-firkin,
As Roger when his hosen and shoon he'd found,
And buttoned his leathern jerkin;
Grey mare he saddled with wond'rous speed,
With pillion on buttock right, sir,
And for an old midwife away he rode,
To bring the young brat to light, sir.

‘O good mother, I pray get up,
The fruit of my labour's now come,
And there lies struggling in Juggy's womb,
And cannot get out till you come’;
‘I'll help it,’ cries the old hag, ‘ne'er doubt
Thy Juggy shall do well again, boy,
For I'se warrant thee I can get the kid out
As well as thou got'st in, boy.’

The mare now mounting very soon,
No whip nor spur was wanting,
And soon as the old wife enters the room,
‘Whew!’ cries out the bantling.
A female chit so small was born,
You might have put it into a flagon,
And it must be christ'ned that very morn,
For fear it should die a pagan.

There was Roger and Doll, and constant Kate,
Gossips to this great christ'ning,
And while the good wives did merrily prate,
Juggy in bed lay list'ning;
Some talked of this, some talked of that,
Of chat they were not sparing:
Some said it was so small a brat
'Twas hardly worth the rearing.

But Roger he strutted about the hall,
As great as the Prince of Condi.
He cried, ‘Although her parts are small,
They may be bigger one day:
What though her thighs and legs be close,
And as little as any spider,
You need not fear but in sixteen year
She'll lay them a great deal wider.

‘For then she'll be a woman grown,
I'se hauld five pound in money,
And will have a little one of her own,
As well as Juggy, my honey;
O these will be joyful days to see,
And I'll strive for to advance her,
That Juggy may a granny be,
Then I shall be a grandsire.’

The nappy ale went swiftly round,
As brown as any berry,
With which the good wives being crowned,
They all were wond'rous merry;
Then Roger he tipped it over the thumb
To every honest neighbour,
Saying, ‘A twelvemonth hence, pray come
Once more to my Juggy's labour.’