KENTISH DICK;
OR, THE
Lusty Coach-Man of Westminster.
With an Account how he Tickled the Young Lasses, and caused
their sad Lamentation.
Tune of, Let Mary live long. Licensed according to Order.
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IN Westminster town;
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you there may discover,
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a wavering lover;
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The tawny and brown,
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as well as the fair,
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He will commonly court,
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He is right for the sport:
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a Coach-man by trade,
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Stout brawny young Richard,
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Stout brawny young Richard,
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a delicate blade.
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He came out of Kent,
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with delicate triming,
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for pleasing young women;
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He gives them consent,
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wherever he goes:
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Hell have at them all,
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Both the short and the tall,
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and follows the trade:
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His name is stout Richard,
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His name is stout Richard,
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a brawny young blade.
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Hes loath to be tyd,
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to any one woman;
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he loves to live common,
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The name of a bride,
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he cannot endure:
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When hes weary of one,
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To another hell run,
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now this is the trade
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Of lusty stout Richard,
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Of lusty stout Richard,
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that dexterous blade.
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Hes wanton and wild,
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a Stallion he passes,
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and five or six lasses,
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Are gotten with child
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by him, as I hear;
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Yet hell marry with none,
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Though they make their sad moan,
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but does them degrade:
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A brawny young fellow,
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A brawny young fellow,
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a dexterous blade.
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Dear Richard, one crys,
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behold my condition,
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with humble submission,
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And watry eyes,
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your love I intreat,
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Tell me, when we shall wed?
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You have my maiden-head.
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he does her degrade,
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And swears hell not marry,
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And swears hell not marry,
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no impudent jade.
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She told him again,
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when first he did use her,
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he would not abuse her:
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Yet this was in vain,
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like Hector he swore,
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That hed never be tyd,
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To any one bride:
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thus did he degrade,
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The poor loving creature,
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The poor loving creature,
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that once was a maid.
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A horrible crime,
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some says, their is seven,
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and others eleven,
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At this very time,
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with child by this spark;
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Who does waddle about,
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For to find the knave out,
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that does them degrade:
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He crys he hath knickt it,
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He crys he hath knickt it,
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an impudent blade.
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We[]ll geld him, says one,
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of nutmegs well free him,
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if ever we see him,
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Or hell over-run
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all maids of the town:
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Lets sever from him,
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That unruly limb,
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which did us degrade;
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He is, I must tell you,
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He is, I must tell you,
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an impudent blade.
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