University of Virginia Library

When the young People ride the Skimmington,
There is a general trembling in a Town.
Not, only he, for whom the Person rides
Suffers, but they sweep other Doors besides;
And by that Hieroglyphick does appear
That the good Woman is the Master there.
At Jenny's Door the barbarous Heathens swept,
And his poor Wife scolded until she wept,
The Mob swept on, whilst she sent forth in vain
Her vocal Thunder and her Briney Rain.
Some few Days after two young Sparks came there,
And whilst she does her Coffee fresh prepare,
One for discourse of News the Master calls,
T'other on this ungrateful Subject falls.
Pray, Mrs. Jenny, whence came this Report,
For I believe there's no great Reason for't,
As if the Folks t'other Day swept your Door,
And half a dozen of your Neighbours more.
There's nothing in't, says Jenny, that is done,
Where the Wife Rules, but here I rule alone,
And Gentlemen you'd much mistaken be,
If any one shou'd not think that of me.
Within these Walls my suppliant Vassals know
What due Obedience to their Prince they owe,
And kiss the Shadow of my Papal Toe.
My Word's a Law, when I my Power advance,
There's not a greater Monarch ev'n in France.
Not the Mogul or Czar of Muscovy,
Not Prester John, or Cham of Tartary,
Are in their Houses Monarch more than I.
My House my Castle is, and here I'm King,
I'm Pope, I'm Emperor, Monarch, every Thing.
What, tho' my Wife be only Partner of my Bed,
The Monarch's Crown sets only on this Head.
His Wife had plaguy Ears, as well as Tongue,
And hearing all, thought his Discourse too long,
Her Conscience said he shou'd not tell such Lies,
And to her Knowledge such, she therefore cries,
D'ye hear—you—Sirrah—Monarch—There—come down
And grind the Coffee—or I'll Crack your Crown.