Filthie Olde Seth
From our UK edition
Seth, Seth, the servile serf Earned his cruste by plowing earthe. Thick filthe lay on his every limbe. The stynke of Seth was foule and grimme. When summer came with azure skye And barleycorne was ripe and drye, Seth leapt at dawne, uncleane from bedde, To shake the dandruffe from his hedde. He scythed ’til noon then founde some shade To kisse a pungent dairie maide. His wife Griselda came with lunche, Saw what he didde and threwe a punche. Seth fybbed, ‘I kissed her not. Thou art a fool. It’s time to use the ducking stool!’ ‘I’ll fecche,’ yelled wife, ‘the village prieste. Thou heartless manne, thou nastie beaste.’ The priest was eating mutton pie. He wiped his chinne and breathed a sigh.