The Knight and the Beggar-Wench.
Which doth a wanton prank unfold,
In as merry a story as ever was told.
The Tune is, The Kings delight, or Turn-Coat.
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I Met with a jovial Beggar
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And into the Fields I led her,
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and I laid her upon the ground;
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Her face did not invite mee,
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Nor her smock did much delight mee
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but I think the young whore was sound;
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With both fresh and gay
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I often did sport and play,
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yet a Beggar Ile take
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for varieties sake,
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Shel please mee as well as they.
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I have a good Wife, as fair
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As ever drew English aire
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her pleasure is past compare,
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Her cherry lips, cheeks, and eyes,
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Her belly, her breast, and thighs,
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might any but I suffice,
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With her I so often play
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And weary my time away
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That a fouler to mee,
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Would be fairer than shee,
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Variety wins the day.
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This Beggar I shall describe,
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Without any hope of bribe,
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was one of the maunding tribe
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Shee had a fine foot and leg,
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As nimble as Doe or Stag,
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and then she began to begg;
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So soon as my Horse shee sees
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She fell down upon her knees,
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The whore had a sack
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That hung at her back
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Well furnishd with Bread and Cheese.
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She struck mee into a dump
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The jade was both young and plump,
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with a round, and a ranting Rump;
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Her feature had so much force,
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It raised in mee remorse
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and drew mee quite off my ,
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But when I began to wooe
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She told mee she would not doo,
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Quoth [I] pretty Mort,
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Let me shew thee some sport
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Shee kist mee, and answered no.
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MY Horse to a twig I tyd,
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the begger-wench then replyd
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good Master get up and ride,
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Yes so I will straight (thought I)
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With that I drew something nigh
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she strugled and cryd fy, fy,
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I am but a Beggar by breed,
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Quoth I let mee do this deed,
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For he that will scorn
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A Beggar-wench born
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May want a good turn at need.
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Then into her Arms I claps,
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Quoth she now Im in ,
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what shall I do with my scraps?
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Throw them in the bush said I,
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No, no, she did streight reply
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theres Pig, and Pudding and Pie
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We begg for better or worse,
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My blessings I will not curse,
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Why then quoth I,
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Go run presently,
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And throw it a thwart my horse.
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She then (in a merry veyne)
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Did trip to meeme back again,
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to put mee out of my pain,
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She dazelled so my sight,
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That neither by day or night,
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I ever had such delight,
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So close to mee now she clings
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And flutters abroad her wings,
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But my bashful jade
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Ashamd of the trade
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Brake loose and away he flings.
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I rise and away ran I,
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The Beggar-wench then did cry,
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my Pig and my Pudding and Pie
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I ran and I cursd and swore,
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Untill I came to my door,
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but the Horse was yet home before
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I bad the wench stay behind,
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And told her I would be kind,
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But when I came home
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I lookd like a Mome,
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I wishd that I had been blind.
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My Wife and my neighbours all
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Did laugh, ye might hear em bawl
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from Temple-Bar to White-Hall.
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my sweet-hearts provant was found
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Which lay in the wallet bound,
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and scatterd about the ground,
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The sight of my wife did daunt,
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and make my heart prick and pant
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Sir Thomas quoth she,
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(And spake merrily)
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Where got you this good provant?
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Thought I, it is best bear up,
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Although of this venemous Cup,
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I take but a sorrowful sup,
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In the twinckling of ones eyes,
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I thought of a thousand lyes,
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but nere a one would suffice;
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I many things had in doubt,
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Yet could not wel bring em about,
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As I went to begin
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The wench came in,
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And so came the story out.
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My Lady did laugh out-right,
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As if she had much delight
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But I found it not so at night;
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I gave the poor-wench a peace,
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But wisht she had been in Greece
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to tell such a tale as this,
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My Madam doth make it slight,
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But I have got nothing byt,
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for when she wants of her
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it is thrown in my dish,
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Id better been hangd out-right.
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