Song XXII. THE HEN-PECKED HUSBAND.
Poor John being drinking one day with a friend,
He had but two shillings, and that he would spend,
Which made him uneasy for fear of his wife,
“Nay, truly,” says he “I'm afraid of my life.”
CHORUS.
Try again, Johnny, lad,
Fight like a tiger, lad,
Try again, Johnny lad, conquer or die.
His friend being angry to hear him say so,
To take up his cudgels fool-hot he did go,
The house being dark made the madam to think
It was her poor Johnny disguised in drink.
She seized the poker, his head she did feel,
Altho' a stout fellow she made him to reel;
He returned the blow with a shocking surprise,
For he flatten'd her nose and he swelled up her eyes.
He follow'd his blows till she cried “Spare my life!
Remember, dear Johnny, that I am thy wife;
I own for insulting thee I was to blame,
The fault's in myself, I confess to my shame.”
So when that he found her begin to relent,
He went out and left her a while to repent,
Then brought in her Johnny inform'd of the news,
Who splutter'd great words with his heart in his shoes.
He call'd for his supper, she brought it in haste,
For fear of his cruelty more she should taste,
Then they went to bed, but poor John could not sleep,
For hearing his wife in such sorrow to weep.
Poor John could not sleep for hearing her sighs,
Much more when he saw her swell'd cheeks and black eyes
O then honest Johnny replied “My dear Ruth,
If thou wilt forgive me I'll tell thee the truth.
A friend unto whom I related my case
Came here in my absence and used thee so base,
For which I am sorry and grieved to the heart,
And wish that I could but partake of thy smart.”
These words he had scarcely let go from his lips,
But hold of the bed-stock she eagerly grips,
And with it she did the poor simpleton beat,
Like some able husbandman thrashing of wheat.
He roar'd out for mercy, but all was in vain;
When weary she rested, then at him again:
All manner of colours she painted his hide—
This merciless bedstock was well occupied.
So under the basket poor Johnny remains;
Of her cruel treatment he daily complains:
“I'm under the basket,” repeated he cries,
“But might have ruled master if I had been wise.”
