My fourthë husband was a revellour; This is to say, he had a paramour, And I was young and full of ragerie, 1915 Stubborn and strong, and jolly as a pie. Then could I dancë to a harpë smale, And sing, y-wis, 1916 as any nightingale, When I had drunk a draught of sweetë wine. Metellius, the foulë churl, the swine, That with a staff bereft his wife of life For 1917 she drank wine, though I had been his wife, Never should he have daunted me from drink: And, after wine, of Venus most I think. For all so sure as cold engenders hail, A liquorish mouth must have a liquorish tail. In woman vinolent 1918 is no defence, 1919 This knowë lechours by experience.