The Maidens Frolicksome Undertaking
To Press Fourteen Taylors,
With the Success of that Comical Adventure
To the Tune of, An Orange. Licensed according to Order.
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LAte near Temple-Bar, a Frollick we hear,
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Which many brisk Fellows did put in much fear
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Ten Lasses i' th' Strand, did take it in hand,
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In Seamens disguise, for to Press and Command
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Fourteen Taylors.
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Moll, Nelly, and Sue, with Nan, Kate, and Prue,
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Their Hangers put on, with the rest of the Crew,
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And so strait they went, about their intent,
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To Ferret them out of their Garrets, they meant,
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All the Taylors.
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But as they did go, along the back-Row,
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They met with a Snipper that well they did know;
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Moll starts from the rest, and crys Friend ye are prest
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He let fall his Cabbidge, and cry'd by his List,
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I'm a Taylor.
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A Taylor for Sea, he ne'r can fit be,
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He's the ninth of a Man, then pray set me free,
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But this blind excuse, nor the price of his Goose,
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Did not then prevail, for, says Kate, there's much use
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For a Taylor.
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Tho' it's plain he's no Man, yet stitch well he can,
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There's need on't at Sea, then you Rascal come on,
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Then trembling full low, himself he did throw
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At their feet, and did beg that they pitty would show
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To a Taylor.
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Pray pitty my tears, and my Bodkin and Shears,
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With all the good Cabbidge I've stole many years;
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Talk not of the Sea, I pray set me free,
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For when did you hear that to Fight did agree
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With a Taylor.
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But nothing avail'd, away he was hail'd,
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Nor long of more Taylors this buxome Crew fail'd.
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Six more they did seize, at Small-beer and Cheese,
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For well out of Cowcumber-time that agrees
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With the Taylors.
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At sight of this Crew, some fainted, some flew,
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The Room it was scented, but all would not do;
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You Scoundrels, quoth Nell, dare you to rebell,
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Come along, and with that they to Cudgelling fell
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Of the Taylors.
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They cry'd out full sore, they had Children store,
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And Wives to maintain, but quoth Molly give o're
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'Tis better be brave, then sit like a Slave,
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Cross-legg'd on a Shopboard; but this sorrow gave
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To the Taylors.
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These once away sent, to th' Garrets they went,
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And tho' they saw none, yet to search they were bent
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And feeling i th' Shreads, they found out their beds
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In Hell then for fear were hidden the Heads
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Of the Taylors.
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Then out from the Raggs, a Taylor each drags,
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O some by the Heels, and some by the Craggs,
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And cry'd out away, ye Rascals, to Sea,
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Fight for King and Queen, but this did not agree
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With the Taylors.
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Thus eight more they got, to make up the shot,
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Crys Sue, in the Chimney as yet we look'd not;
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This made them look there, when strid in the Bar,
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A cock-horse were riding three (half dead with fear)
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Of the Taylors.
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These being thus Prest, they lookt for the rest,
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And quickly they pull'd 'um all out of their Nest;
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Compell'd them to go, with Kick and with blow,
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Some cry'd and some pist, and yet all would not do
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For the Taylors.
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They stood not to chuse, nor none did refuse,
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Monsieur, Shon-a-Morgan, & Teague they did nooze,
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And more in the Trap, these Females did snap,
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Until they the Fourteen had fairly made up
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Of all Taylors.
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The Answer to the Frolicksome Maids who Press'd
the TAYLORS; or, The Taylors Resolution to
be Reveng'd on these Petticoat Seamen, in Steal-
ing more Cabbidge from Gowns, Petticoats, etc.
To the Tune of, An Orange.
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GOod people you know, 'tis not long ago
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That six lusty Lasses did Frolicking go,
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Jone, Bridget, and Bess, all in Seamens Dress,
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Like sturdy Tarpaulins, they ventur'd to Press
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Fourteen Taylors.
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Now upon being told, those Press-masters bold,
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Were only six Maids, none yet twenty years old,
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Their Hair off they tore, and bloodily swore,
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That never were Tradesmen so served before
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As poor Taylors.
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Crys Will to his Mate, I Frolicks do hate,
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That do serve us Taylors at such a bad rate;
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Stout Jone did me take by the Coller, and shake,
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Then drag'd me along as a Bear to a Stake,
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Though a Taylor.
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Then Tony Upright, cry'd, you ought to Fight,
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And forc'd all the Petticoat Train to a flight;
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Had I had your place, the weak Female Race
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Should never have brag'd to have done such disgrace
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To us Taylors.
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Crys Will, if I'd known, Ann, Bridget, and Jo[ne]
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The Petticoat-Press-masters soon should have flown
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For ending the strife, 'twas but calling my Wife
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She'd dont but for me, I ne'r Box'd in my life
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I'm a Taylor.
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For some time we lay, confin'd night and day,
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Nor did they then pitty us when we did pray;
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Poor Shon-a-Morgan, Dick, Tom, Ralph and [Ben]
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Some fourteen or fifteen we counted stout Men,
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Of us Taylors.
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Thus cruelly us'd we were, and abus'd,
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For which great Affront they shall ne'r be excus['d]
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To plague them for all, a Caball we'll call,
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That shall have no mercy or pitty at all,
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As they'r Taylors.
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This once thus agreed, they come to proceed,
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And send out to Summon all Taylors with speed
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Their Case they did Note, and put it to Vote,
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What Silk or Stuff should be Snip'd from a Co[at]
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By the Taylors.
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The Garments Maids wear, our harms shall rep[air]
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With secresie acted, and provident care,
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Now each of you know, a Yard was our due,
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But for this Affront, we give leave to take Two
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As we're Taylors.
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Then to drench their Soul, the Taylors did [troll]
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In cherishing Cups, or a nappy brown Bowl,
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And choosing for Heed, Dick, Ralph, Will & Ned,
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Each calls for his Pot and a dozen of Bread,
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Like brisk Taylors.
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The Taylors thus met, and in Council set,
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It would have been strange had Old Nick spread [?]
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Of all sorts besure, he had caught good store;
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For some do affirm them three hundred or more,
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Each a Taylor.
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Then straight did begin, Welsh Shon-a-Morgan
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Hur crys, py St. Taffy, hur hold hur no Sin;
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To sheat hur dam'd Shade, that durst hur degrade
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What hur steals is Cabidge, belongs to the Tr[ade]
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Of a Taylor.
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At last they agree, from Six to snip Three,
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That Frolicksome Lasses might punished be,
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Yet Taffy did Huff, Swears 'twas not enuff,
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Hur means to steal four Yards of Silk or of Stu[ff]
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Like a Taylor.
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