H.--Oh! were you, Jane, to leave this world,
W.--And you to beg and borrow,
H.--Stop, Jane, talk not so silly, Jane,
W.--Not at your bidding, never;
I'd talk as long as I thought fit,
Were I to live for ever.
H.--Your voice if raised a little more,
Would rouse the very dead,
A pretty noise, because I ask'd
If you the pigs had fed.
W.--I'll raise my voice, Mog, louder still,
As sure as you were born,
Why should you ask "How many loaves
Came from the peck of corn?"
H.--Should not the master of the house
Know every undertaking?
W.--And wear his wife's own crinoline,
And try his hand at baking!
H.--The breeches you would like to wear!
W.--What vulgar jests you're making!
H.--Stop Jane, stop Jane, don't speak so loud,
Your noise will stun the cattle!
W.--The only noise that could do that
Is your continued rattle.
H.--As sounds a bee upon her back,
So does this wasp I've got,
And all because I ask'd if she
Had fed the pigs or not.
W.--Your peevish growling, Mog, is worse,
Yes, ten times worse and more,
Still asking, "How this churning gave
Less than the one before?"
H.
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