custom is,
Do discant at the best.

But not to spoil the Foolish sport,
He was content good King;
To fit the Shepherd's humour right,
In every kind of thing.

A Sheep-hook then, with _Patch_ his Dog,
And Tar-box by his side;
He with his Master, jig by jowl,
Unto old _Gillian_ hy'd.

Into whose sight no sooner came,
Whom have you here (quoth she)
A Fellow I doubt, will cut our Throats,
So like a Knave looks he.

Not so old Dame, quoth _Alfred_ strait,
Of me you need not fear;
My Master hir'd me for Ten Groats,
To serve you one whole Year.

So good Dame _Gillian_ grant me leave,
Within your House to stay;
For by St. _Ann_, do what you can,
I will not yet away.

Her churlish usage pleas'd him still,
Put him to such a Proof,
That he at Night was almost choak'd,
Within that smoaky Roof.

But as he sat with smiling cheer,
The event of all to see;
His Dame brought forth a piece of Dow,
Which in the Fire throws she.

Where lying on the Hearth to bake,
By chance the Cake did burn;
What can'st thou not, thou Lout (quoth she)
Take Pains the same to turn:

Thou art more quick to take it out,
And eat it up half Dow,
Than thus to stay till't be enough,
And so thy Manners show.

But serve me such another Trick,
I'll thwack thee on the Snout;
Which made the patient King, good Man,
Of her to stand in Doubt:

But to be brief, to bed they went,
The good old Man and's Wife;
But never such a Lodging had
King _Alfred_ in his Life:

For he was laid in white Sheeps Wool,
New pull'd from tanned Fells,
And o'er his Head hang'd Spiders Webbs,
As if they had been Bells.

Is this the Country Guise, thought he,
Then here I will not stay;
But hence be gone as soon as breaks
The peeping of the Day.

The cackling Hens and Geese kept roost,
And perched at his side;
Whereat the last the watchful Cock,
Made known the Morning Tide.

Then up got _Alfred_ with his Horn,
And blew so long a Blast,
That made _Gillian_ and her Groom,
In Bed full sore agast.

Arise, quoth she, we are undone,
This Night, we lodged have,
At unawares within our House,
A false dissembling Knave;

Rise Husband, rise, he'll cut our Throats,
He calleth for his Mates,
I'd give old _Will_ our good Cade Lamb,
He would depart our Gates.

But still King _Alfred_ blew his Horn
before them, more and more,
'Till that a hundred Lords and Knights,
All lighted at the Doo