|
FAith i'm a Dog if I can guess
|
What strain will most obliege the Press:
|
'Mongst twenty several things, 'tis well,
|
If one in all the score will sell:
|
One thing alas is thought too stale,
|
Another is not fit for Sale;
|
Because the Poets modest Rhimes,
|
Are not so vicious as the Times.
|
In short, one reason is, I guess,
|
They know the Poet's Moneyless;
|
And they resolve to keep him so,
|
By feeding him with Snap and Go:
|
Another reason may be this,
|
They'l keep him Poor as he can Piss,
|
In hopes that in a while he may
|
Be forc'd to give his pains away.
|
But happen how it will, yet I
|
Once more resolved am to try
|
Whither I can provide a Sallat
|
That will but please your squeamish Pallat:
|
The Sauce is Tart, Meat fresh and new,
|
The Story no more strange then true;
|
Then welcome all, fall to I pray,
|
Much Good may't do you, Sirs I say.
|
In Holbourn late a Wench did dwell,
|
Known by the Name of Bouncing Nell;
|
Who Courted was by Suitors two,
|
For you must note one would not do:
|
She was a lusty strapping Jade,
|
And one that passed for a Maid;
|
And her two Friends the Devil take her,
|
Were a brisk Taylor and a Baker.
|
The Taylor after some dispute,
|
Provides this Lass a handsome Suit;
|
Some say 'twas made of Taylors Cabbidge
|
Yet it was too good for the Baggage;
|
Nay, this same Slut herself did tell,
|
Her Sweet-heart brought it out of Hell;
|
A place beneath his Shop-board, where
|
He us'd to put ill-gotten Ware.
|
The Baker loath to be behind,
|
Unto his Dear prov'd not less kind;
|
And being pritty full of Money,
|
He bought a Ring to give his Honey:
|
Whereon as you must understand,
|
Where lovers two claspt hand in hand;
|
Which made her promise he alone,
|
Should soon possess her as his own.
|
|
|
|
|
The Second Part, To the same Tune.
|
BUt the false Gypsie meant not so,
|
As by and by you well shall know;
|
For three nights after this she had,
|
Another proper lively Lad:
|
Who took possession of the thing
|
Promis'd the Baker for his Ring;
|
Which when the Baker understood,
|
He vowed revenge by all that's good.
|
He thereupon with speed did go
|
Unto the Taylor late his Foe;
|
And with a witty brisk contrival,
|
Tells the whole Story to his Rival:
|
At which he swore he'd blow her down,
|
He would pull off the Gypsies Gown;
|
And the next time he did her meet,
|
Would kick her up and down the street.
|
The Baker seeing him thus rage,
|
Speaks thus his fury to asswage;
|
We both are wrong'd alike, and I
|
Will be revenged or will dye:
|
Let us work closely, then quoth he,
|
And make no noise, and you shall see,
|
We'l play a prank shall fit her well,
|
And make her wish her name not Nell.
|
Things thus concluded, they agree,
|
To make no noise of what they see;
|
They were so true unto their trust,
|
That the poor Jade did not mistrust.
|
They notice took of wh[at] was done,
|
But thought herself clea[r a]s the Sun:
|
But you shall hear this subtle Shaver,
|
With a slye trick did much beslave her.
|
They both went streight and knockt at door,
|
As if they'd not been there before;
|
And tells her now his friend and he,
|
Where then resolved to agree:
|
And that a Supper was provided,
|
where this their case should be decided,
|
Let her choose one, the other he,
|
Should not controul her liberty.
|
Away she goes with these her friends,
|
Without mistrusting of their ends;
|
They took a Coach and did convey
|
Their Lady quite another way:
|
And made the Coach-man stop awhile,
|
Without the town near half a Mile:
|
And took her forth immediately,
|
And thus began their Roguery.
|
The Baker cryes I understand,
|
Your Ladyship hath late took Man,
|
And since you are so hot 'tis meet,
|
Cold water should asswage your heat:
|
Of thy unfaithful Letcherous Tayle,
|
With that they both of them did trayle
|
Her to a little Pond there by,
|
And souz'd her very handsomly.
|
The Taylor being loath to be
|
Behind his friend in Courtesie,
|
Lends her his helping hand, and tyes
|
Her head and face between her thighs:
|
And minding to go through stitch,
|
Sticks a light Candle in her Breech;
|
And in that posture leaves with jeers,
|
Her with her Coats about her ears.
|
They thereupon took Coach, and pray
|
She'd make no more such Fools as they,
|
Lest the next time some other Man,
|
Shew her a worse trick ten to one:
|
The Wench at last got loose, but how,
|
In truth good Reader I don't know:
|
So sham'd she was at what was done,
|
That home again she never come.
|
Some say this Wenches Friends do dwell
|
Near Derby hard by Kelston-Well:
|
And that she is gone down to try,
|
To cure her Itching Letchery:
|
But others think the reason why,
|
She from her dwelling thus did flye,
|
Was 'cause her shame flew in her face,
|
She left the Town to shun disgrace.
|
|
|
|
|