The Six-penny Whore,
OR THE
London Frollick.
Being a true Relation, how a Porter and a Counsellors Wife were found in Bed
together near West-Smithfield.
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To the Tune of a Figg for France.
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Entred according to Order.
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I.
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YOu London Dames I pray give ear,
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A story true I will declare,
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Of a Porter & a Counsellors Wife
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These two did live a gallant Life,
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I pray give ear, and hear the rest,
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And you shall hear a pleasant Jest,
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Saith she, my Husband doth me Scorn,
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I will then make him ware the Horn.
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II.
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She being Whorish they do say,
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Her Husband from her went away,
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She like a Miss then of the Town,
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Both Day and Night sails up and down,
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With her Rouling eyes she doth stare,
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Seeking what man she can insnare,
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And my Husband, etc.
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III.
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She sailing late about the streets,
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Her dear Neddy there she meets.
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And in great hast these two did Come
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Near to Smithfield, unto her home,
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To Bed they went, and thought no harm,
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Thinking to sport with his fine Dame,
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And my Husband, etc.
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IV.
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They being then discovered,
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And hardly warm then in their Bed,
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Her Landlady chance to come there,
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Which made the Porter stink for fear,
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And pull'd him out where he was laid,
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And soundly he there was paid,
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And since her Husband did her Scorn,
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The Porter thought him for to Horn.
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V.
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He feeling of her blows did Smart,
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Which strook a Damp unto his Heart,
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Because he was beaten by Woman-kind,
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Which much then troubled his mind;
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He swears he near will her come nigh,
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Cursing his fate most bitterly,
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You Porters all then have a care,
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And meddle not with Lawyers gear.
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VI.
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A pretty Creature she is then,
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She's enough to Ravish any Man,
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This Porter thought he had been Blest,
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Thinking one Night with her to rest,
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But he was much deceived there,
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And Swears he will not her come near,
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You Porters all, etc.
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VII.
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A thousand pitties 'tis I do say,
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This Woman is given to go astray,
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For she's a Blith and Buxum Lass,
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And for a Six-pence she'l show her A--
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She'l sware and lie tho she was mad,
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And have a P-- if it is to be had,
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You Porters all, etc.
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VIII.
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So to Conclude, I'le make an end,
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Hoping this Porter his Life will mend,
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And Frollick no more with Woman-kind,
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For they are as fickle as the Wind,
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But be contented with your own Wife,
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Be loving to her, and live not at strife,
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You Porters all then have a care,
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And meddle not with Womens gear,
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LONDON, Printed for A.C. in St. Johns-street.
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