THE SKY LARK, &c, Song

No care beyond the morrow! In heat or cold, in wet or dry, I never grumbled, no, not I, My wife, 'is true, loves words a few, My wife, &c.

What then, I let her prate; What then, &c.

For sometimes smooth and sometimes rough, I found myself still rich enough, In the joys of an humble state. For sometimes smooth, &c.

But when with law I craz'd my head, I lost both peace and pleasure— Long says to hear, To search and swear, And plague beyond all measure.

One grievance brought another on, My debts increase, my flock is gone; My wife, she says, Our means 'twill raise. What then? 'tis idle prate. For sometime smooth, &c.