The London Lasses Folly,
OR,
The MAIDEN Beguil'd.
This Maiden wild she was Beguil'd,
to loose her Maiden-Head,
And when that he had got his will,
away from her he fled.
To the Tune of, The Journey-man Shooe-maker.
This may be printed, R.L.S.
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NOt long ago it chanced so,
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abroad as I was walking,
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A Damsel-fair I soon espy'd,
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and to her self was talking:
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Ah! woe is me, poor wretch quoth she,
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that had not forecast rather
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For now I am grown big with Bearn,
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but I do not know the Father.
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One night when I lay in my Bed,
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to sleep as it was needful,
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And having but a careless head,
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and being much unheedful:
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A young-man came, but not his name
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by him I could not gather,
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That night i'me sure I prov'd with bearn
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but I do not know the Father.
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He made no stay, but whipt away,
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when he had had his pleasure,
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O that nights work hath me undone,
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I may repent at leisure;
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Now will I ramble up and down,
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to find our this young shaver,
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For if he live in London-Town,
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my Child shall have a Father.
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I think no Carpenter was he,
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no Shipwright, nor no Saylor,
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I rather think it for to be
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some lusty jovial Taylor:
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Or if he were a Glover good,
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a Black-Smith, or a Weaver,
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My meaning may be understood,
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my Child should have a Father.
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Or if he were a Butler bold,
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a Baker, or a Brewer,
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No secret place my friend shall hold
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but I will find him sure;
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Or if he were a Serving-man,
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a Royster, or a Shaver,
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I'le find my Gallant if I can,
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my Child must have a Father.
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But if I can by no means find
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the Man that I ado[r]n Sir,
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I'le rest my self content in mind,
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until my Child is born Sir;
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And when he comes to 7 years old,
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I by my Child shall gather,
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For he will be of qualities
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like unto his right Father.
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For if a Fleming got my Child,
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he will eat all the Butter
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Or if he be a Spaniard wild,
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he'll keep a deadly clutter:
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Or if he be an Irish Teague,
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my Child will ride the Hobby,
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Or if he be a Welsh-man like,
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Cotts-Plues he loves Cows-Bobby.
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Or if he be a Scotch-mans Son,
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he will begin a Quarrel,
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Or if he be of a French-mans Bone,
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he'l pawn his best aparrel:
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Or if he be a Souldiers Son,
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I'le buy him a Hat and Feather,
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And with a Drum i'le send my Son
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to see[k] out his right Father.
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When she had finish'd all her talk,
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from thence she soon departed,
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And then another way did walk,
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both blith and merry hearted;
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But then I cannot now surmise,
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or any way can gather,
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Or which way then she could devise
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to find out her Childs Father.
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