11
The butter-milk on dunghill there,
cover’d o’er with white.
Jack thought the wthie dog it had been,
that did bite him before,
To ſtudy now he doth begin
to be reveng’d therefore.
Jack he a cudgel then had got,
a weapon ſtout and ſtrong,
And went towards the butter-milk,
for to revenge his wrong.
Said he, you cur, you now ſhall know
I’ll be reveng’d on you
With that he gave the pot a blow,
which made him after rue.
The pot in pieces broke apace,
Jack knew not what to think.
For why the milk flew in his face,
and made him backwards ſhrink.
The cracking of the pot he thought
was the dog’s bones, and judg’d
The milk which in his face wrought,
to be the maſtiff’s blood.
You ill bred cur, now know, ſaid he,
what ’twas to wrong a man,
I think I am reveng’d on you
as much as e’er I can.
Let others curs a warning take,
how they abuſe their friends,
For much of thee I ſtill did make,
and had but ill amends.
His anger ſwag’d, which ſore did burn,
