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The JEALOUS HUSBAND well paid.
To its own Proper Tune.
My father had no child but me,
And all his care continually,
Was for to have me married well;
But under fortune’s frowns I fell.
For to an old miser he wedded me,
His age it was three-score and three;
And I myself about seventeen,
I wish his face I ne’er had seen.
For when that I abroad do go,
To meet a friend, to chat or so,
If any man should salute me,
It more encreases his jealousy.
A youthful squire drank to me,
I pledg’d him with—my modesty,
Thought it no harm, yet ne’ertheless,
My husband did my shoulders dress.
And when that we do go to bed,
To reap the joys for which we wed;
He does so kick and pinch me too,
That he my limbs leaves black and blue.
Next morning when that I arose,
I strain in haste put on my clothes,
And as he lay asleep in bed,
I with a ladle broke his head.
