The Lusty Young Smith

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The Lusty Young Smith

A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing,
Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, in and out, in and
out, ho!

When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,
And asked if to work at her forge he would go,
With a rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, rub, in and out, in
and out, ho!

"A match!" quoth the smith, so away they went

thither,

They stripped to go to't—'twas hot work and hot

weather—

She kindled a fire, and soon made him blow,

Her husband, she said, could scarce raise up his

hammer,

His strength and his tools were worn out long ago,

long ago!

If she got her journey-men, could any blame her?

"Look here!" quoth our workman, "My tools are

not so!"

Red-hot grew his iron, as both did desire,

And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so,

while 'twas so.

Quoth she: "What I get, I get out of the fire,

Then prithee, strike home—and redouble the blow!"

Six times did his iron, by vigorous heating,
Grow soft in the forge in a minute, a minute or so:
As often, 'twas hardened—still beating and beating—
But the more it was softened, it hardened more slow,

The smith then would go. Quoth the dame, full of sorrow:
"Oh, what would I give, could my cuckold do so, do so!
Good lad, with your hammer come hither tomorrow—
But pray, can't you use it once more e'er you go?"

 


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