The Rampant Taylor,
OR THE
Nineteen Lasses in Distress
Licensed according to Order. To the Tune of, March Boys, etc.
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A Taylor, good Lord, who liv'd in the Strand,
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[A]nd hearing his Trade so much revil'd
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To[pr]ove that Toylar was a Man
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He [nin]eteen Maids has got with Child.
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He'd [h]umour their Smiles, and quell their Frowns,
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And [?]kle with Kisses their handsome Faces:
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Whilst he was fitting on their Gowns
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He'd slip his Needle into their Cases.
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Lasses, [L]asses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stitching Trade disdain,
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For a T[a]ylor is prov'd a Man,
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And f[it] [fo]r any Maids Embraces.
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To [eac]h fair Lass he offers his Love,
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And swears by his Needle and his Thred,
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If she his Affections will approve,
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He'll [m]end all Flaws in her Maidenhead.
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He V[o]ws by his Thimble He'll make her a Gown,
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If M[o]ney she offers He ll scorne to take it:
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But if she chance to tumble down,
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He'll stick his Bodkin into her Placket.
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Lasses, Lasses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stitching Trade disdain,
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For a Tayor is prov'd a Man,
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And fit for any Maids Embraces.
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About him he alwaies carries his Yard,
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To measure the Stuff you bring unto him:
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By Nineteen Lasses 'tis declared,
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No Taylor yet could ere out do him:
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He handles your Waste with so much care,
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And measures your Pettycote with so much Pleasure,
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Were you to try him, you would swear
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He was a Man compleat at Measure.
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[L]asses, Lasses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stitching Trade disdain,
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[F]or a Taylor is prov'd a Man,
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And fit for any Maids Embraces.
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Nine Taylors to a Man we tell,
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But he by his Deeds has alter'd the Case,
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In making Nineteen Bellies swell,
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It shows that he no Botcher was:
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At wooing he so expert was grown
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He'd Cog and Flatter, Ly and Whedle,
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And nere let a Maid alone,
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Until he had prick'd her with his Needle.
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Lasses, Lasses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stitching Trade disdain,
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For a Taylor is prov'd a Man,
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And fit for any Maids Embraces.
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He greatly was by all belov'd;
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He was so Youthful, Brisk, and, Nimble:
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By each Maid he was approv'd,
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The prittyest Lad ere handled Thimble:
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But now his Trade is given ore,
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He's gone to Sea to see new Fasheons:
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Longer he dare not stay on Shore,
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He s stuft so many Maids Cusheons;
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Lasses, Lasses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stiching Trade disdain,
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For a Taylor is prov'd a Man,
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And fit for any Maids Embraces:
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The Nineteen Lasses are all in Tears,
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Now Father of their great Bellies is gone:
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He sends them Letters to ease their Cares,
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And writes these following Words in one:
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For to excuse my going away,
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This Letter kindly I have sent ye,
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To tell you I'm troubled I could not stay,
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To make the Number even Twenty:
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Lasses, Lasses, pritty young Lasses,
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Do not the stitching Trade disdain,
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For a Taylor is prov'd a Man,
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And fit for any Maids Embrace.
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