a pot of milk upon her cushioned crown,

good peggy hastened to the market town;

short-clad and light, with step she went,

not fearing any accident;

indeed to be the nimbler tripper,

her dress that day,

the truth to say,

was simply petticoat and slipper.

and, thus bedight,

good peggy, light,

her gains already counted,

laid out the cash

at single dash,

which to a hundred eggs amounted.

three nests she made,

which, by the aid

of diligence and care, were hatched.

"to raise the chicks,

we'll easily fix,"

said she, "beside our cottage thatched.

the fox must get

more cunning yet,

or leave enough to buy a pig.

with little care,

and any fare,

he'll grow quite fat and big;

and then the price

will be so nice

for which the pork will sell!

'twill go quite hard

but in our yard

i'll bring a cow and calf to dwell—

a calf to frisk among the flock!"

the thought made peggy do the same;

and down at once the milk pot came,

and perished with the shock.

calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu!

your mistress' face is sad to view—

she gives a tear to fortune spilt;

then, with the down-cast look of guilt,

home to her husband empty goes,

somewhat in danger of his blows.

who buildeth not, sometimes, in air,

his cots, or seats, or castles fair?

from kings to dairywomen—all—

the wise, the foolish, great and small—

each thinks his waking dream the best.

some flattering error fills the breast:

the world, with all its wealth, is ours,

its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers.

instinct with valour, where alone,

i hurl the monarch from his throne;

the people glad to see him dead,

elect me monarch in his stead,

and diadems rain on my head.

some accident then calls me back,

and i'm no more than simple jack!