The KNIGHT and the BEGGER-WENCH.
Which doth a wanton Prank unfold,
In as merry a Story as ever was told.
To the Tune of, The King's Delight: or, Turn-Coat, etc.
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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 me,
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Nor her smock did much delight me,
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but I think the young Whore was sound;
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With Ladies both fresh and gay
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I often did sport and play,
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Yet a Beggar I'll take
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For varieties sake,
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She'll please me as well as they.
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I have a good Wife, as fair
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As ever drew English air,
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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 me,
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Would be fairer than she,
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Varity wins the day.
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This Beggar I should describe,
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Without any hope of bribe,
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was one of the Maundring tribe;
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She 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 beg,
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So soon as my horse she 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 furnish'd with bread and cheese.
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She struck me into a dump,
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the Jade was both young and plump,
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with a round and ranting rump;
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Her feature had so much force,
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It raised in me remorse,
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and drew me quite off my horse;
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But when I began to wooe,
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She told me she would not do:
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Quoth I, Pretty Mort,
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Let me shew you some sport;
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She kist me, and answered no.
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My horse to a twig I ty'd,
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The Beggar-wench then reply'd,
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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 cry'd, Fie, fie,
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I am but a Beggar by breed;
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Quoth I, Let me 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 I'm in your traps,
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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 straight reply,
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there's pig, and pudding, and pie,
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We beg for better or worse,
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My b[l]essings 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 'thwart my horse.
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She then (in a merry vein)
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Did trip to me back again,
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to put me 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 me now she clings,
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And flutters abroad her wings.
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But my bashful jade,
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Asham'd of the trade,
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Brake loose and away she 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-pie;
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I ran and I cursed and swore,
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Until I came to my door,
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but the horse was got 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 look'd like a Mome,
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I wish'd 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-heart's p[r]ovant was found,
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Which lay in the wallet bound,
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and scatter'd 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 to 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 twinkling of one's eyes,
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I thought of a thousand lyes,
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but ne'r a one would suffice;
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I many things had in doubt,
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Yet could not well 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 peice,
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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 by't,
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For when she wants her wish,
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It is thrown in my dish,
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I'd better been hang'd out-right.
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