The Weeders (Thomas Arne)
- Editor: Christopher Shaw (submitted 2011-08-20). Score information: A4, 12 pages, 120 kB Copyright: Personal
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Title: The Weeders
Composer: Thomas Arne
Original text and translations
Joan, marching forth with a rusty old knife,
Tucked up her tail, in the garden to weed;
Ralph, who an hour had been toiling for life,
Called on the devil to quicken her speed.
"Rot you", said he, "where the deuce have you been?
Plague on your conscience, must I work alone?
Down with that thistle, those coleworts between:
Mind, you old whore, or I'll tip you a stone".
"Oh!", she cried out, with a terrible squall,
"I've had such a prick as will make me run mad:
Pox on this thistle, the garden and all;
No sting of a hornet was ever so bad".
"Plague on your bawling! what ails you? Come here;
No prick could have made you so loudly to roar;
'Tis shamming the cripple, for hark in your ear,
You never yet squeaked, at a hundred or more".