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THE COUNTRY COUSIN.
There was a rich man, and he liv'd in the city.He had a handsome wife, & she was witty,She had the craftiness to write a letter,She lov'd her husband, but a friend far better.
Husband, said she, I am grown very sickly,Send for my Cousin, pray send for her quickly,For she's the only one can give me physic,Can give me ease for my cough and phthisic.
The letter she sent, and she over perus'd it,Is not this a good offer, I'll not refuse it,I'll to some barber go, and be trimin'd most neatly,Like to some young woman drest most completely.
When that she came to her country Cousin's,Kisses she gave him fourteen to the dozen;Husband, says she, 'tis my country Cousin,Pray use her well, she's the best of a dozen.
Cousin, says he, You are welcome and kindly,Supper is ready, and all things done finely;I have been miles to-day above a dozen,Pray let me go to bed my loving Cousin.
This man dreamt a dream that he was horn'd,Buck's horns all round his head grievously swarm'd,He jumpt into the room without any dodgin,And found her embrac'd in the arms of her Cousin.
He search'd her all o'er, found he was a man, Sir,And nothing he said, and he made him no answer,He turn'd her out of doors, she and her Cousin,And wasn't this a merry jest, the best of a dozen.
