THE
Lusty Fryer of Flanders;
How in a Nunnery at the City of Gaunt this Fryer got Thirty Nuns with Child in three Weeks
time, and afterwards made his escape.
To the Tune of, Cold and Raw
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NOt long ago from hence I went,
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to travel into Flanders,
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To learn the Art of War, was sent
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under those great Commanders;
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At Gaunt I saw a pleasant fun,
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as you shall hear hereafter,
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Betwixt a Fryar and a Nun,
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may well deserve your laughter.
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The Fryer like a Jolly Dad,
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a propagating Father,
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Hid not the Talent which he had,
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but chose to use it rather:
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The Nun was pretty, young, and fair,
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as if design'd for pleasure,
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And pity 'twas that she should swear,
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to keep her Virgin treasure.
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Unto this Lusty Fryer she went,
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and there her sins confessed,
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Which he, unto her hearts content,
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forgave and her released;
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But this he said, before you rise,
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for all your sad offences,
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By good St. Francis, i'le Chastise
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with Rods your Preter Tenses.
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Her hinder Quarters up she turns,
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and ther she lay most fairly,
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The Fryar now in Lust he burns,
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and flaug'd her off most rarely:
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Her prayers and tears at last prevail
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upon the cruel Fryar,
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That he'd no more correct her tail,
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nor would he now deny her.
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Thou pretty Nymph arise he said,
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and let me now imbrace thee,
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Bestow on me your Maiden-head,
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fear not that i'le disgrace thee;
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What tho' my Robe be black my dear,
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my skins as white as may be,
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And I have that has pleas'd i'le swear,
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oh many a gallant Lady.
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The Charming Nun then blushing said,
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oh tempt me not to evil,
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Have I not vow'd to live a Maid,
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and to renounce the Devil,
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But should I now commit this Crime,
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and break my vow by sporting,
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My belly will grow big in time,
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and then you'll leave your Courting.
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The Sin, my Dear, is Venial.
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and to indulge is easie,
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Sin on and i'le forgive you all,
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my Love, if you'll but please me;
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But since you fear to breed young bones,
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i'le tell you for their Glory,
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The Lady Abbess and her Nuns,
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have done the like before you.
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This Nun oh she grew big at last,
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and dayly it increases,
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And e're ten months were fully past,
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the Nuns fell all to pieces;
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The crafty Fryer away he went,
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that should 'scape 'twas pity,
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And left behind a Regiment
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of bastards to the City.
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Thus he this Creature did beguile,
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but tell me wan't he dirty,
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Twenty nine Nuns he'd got with Child,
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and this made up the thirty:
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He had a faculty to Cure,
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each longing expectation.
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So this religious Rascal sure,
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is able to stock a nation.
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FINIS.
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