Then Mary o'th' Dairy, a third of the Number, Wou'd fain know the Cause they so jigg'd it about, The Miller her Wishes long would not incumber, But in the old manner the Secret found out. Thus Celie and Nelly, and Mary the mild, Were just about Harvest Time all big with Child, They danc'd in the Hay, they hallow'd and whoop'd, And all the Day long, This, this was her Song, Hoy, were ever three Sisters so lericompoop'd. And when they were big they did stare at each other, And crying, Oh Sisters, what shall we now do, For all our young Bantlings we have but one Father, And they in one Month will all come to Town too: O why did we run in such hast to the Mill, To Robin, who always the Toll Dish would fill, He bumpt up our Bellies, then hallow'd and whoop'd, And all the Day long, This, this was their Song, Hoy, were ever three Sisters so lericompoop'd.
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A New SONG, Made in Honour of the Renown'd Prince Eugene of Savoy, and to welcome him to England. The Words made to a pretty Tune.
NOW is the Sun
From the Horizon gone,
That the Empire so long did cheer,
Weak stands the Court
Without wonted Support,
