THE HEN-PECKED HUSBAND.
{"character_count": 905, "word_count": 180, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9835000038146973], "ccnet_perplexity": [1484.199951171875], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
Oh, her hair is as dark as the midnight wave, And her eye like the kinding fire, And her voice is as sweet as the spirits voice, That chords with the seraph's Tyre. But her nails are as sharp as toasting fork, And her arm as strong as bears: She's pulled my hair, and she's gouged my eye, And she's kick d me down the stairs. I've got an eye that's made of glass,

 And I've got me wig that's new: And the wig is frizzled in cork-screw curis, And the eye is clouded blue. She may shake her knuchles full in my face, And pnt the lamp to my beard, And hold the broomstick over my head

 But I'm not bit afeared- For I've bound her over to keep the peace,

 And I've bought me a crab-tree cane The justice will come, and the constable too, If she needles with me again. My head was week in a linen cap,

 And my eye week in the patch; never thought that the torch of love

 Would light such birthstone match.