Lydy Churning

Brim full of love fat Lydy sat, Cheeks like a blooming plum: Sweating with all a maiden's strength, To make the butter come.

In vain she churn'd, in vain she try'd; O, would our Roger come! For nothing but a Roger's strength Can make my butter come.

Within the pantry Roger skulk'd, And heard this am'rous hum; Then fixing fast on Lydy'd churn, He made her butter come.

Lydy cried out—O Roger on— That day may I be dumb, If once I toil—when you so soon Can make my butter come.