The Spruce Mr. Clark

The spruce Mr. Clark,
Was a young Essex spark,
A farmer uxorious and rich,
He lov?d dearly as his life,
Fried bacon and his wife;
And says he: – ?My duck, we?ll claim the Flitch,?

Mrs. Clark ?twas in bed,
Loved bacon, she said,
But she vow?d she?d no more see it spoil?d,
Crying ? ?Clark your quite mistaken,
?If you think to fry that bacon,
I insist every bit shall be boil?d.

Mr. Clark, tho? ?twas night,
Jump?d in bed bold upright;
Quite enrag?d at his rib by his side;
And says he, – Now madam mark;
?Tho? I love you Mrs. Clark,
I?ll be hang?d it it shan?t all be fried.?

The dispute ran so high,
?Twixt a boil and a fry,
That Clark tho? he argued it roundly;
Put an end to all turmoiling,
As to frying, or to boiling,
By basting Mrs. Clark very fondly.

These turtles no doubt,
Very soon found out
That their claim to the flitch must by shaken, —
They had children blithe as larks,
But all the little Clarks,
Were mark?d with a rather of bacon.