The Patriarch

As honest Jacob on a niht
Wi' his beloved beauty
Was duly laid in the wedlock's bed
But noddin' at his duty

“How long,” she cried, “you fumblin' wretch
Will you be at it jiggin'?
My oldest child, it might die of age
Before you do your diggin'”

“You puff and groan and guggle there
And you make and come and splutter
And I must lie and suffer you
Though I'm not a hair the better”

Then he, in wrath, put up his scythe
The devil's in his hussy
“Why, I mow you as I mow the rest
By night and day, I'm busy”

“I've got with child our servants both
By your titty, Rachel
You barren jad, you drive me mad
For all, you're still ungrateful”

“Thеre's never a mow I'vе given the rest
But what you've had a dozen
But not a one you'll get again
Even though your gate turn frozen”

Then Rachel calm, as any lamb
She puts him on her belly
She says, “What matter a woman's chatter
In truth, you mow me jolly”

“My dear 'tis so, for many a mow
I am your grateful debtor
But once again, I think and then
You'll may find it better”

The honest man wi' little work
He soon forgot his ire
The patriarch, threw off his shirt
And up and at it like fire