The Lawyers Plea,
In the behalf of Young
TOM of LINCOLN.
Being an Answer to a late Scandalous Ballad, Entituled,
Merry News from Lincolns-Inn.
Adrest to the Author of the said Ballad, by Tom of Lincoln.
To the Tune of, Help Lords and Commons, etc.
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LOrd help us all! what Story's this,
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that makes so great a stir?
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Forsooth who ever keeps a Miss,
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must fear this barking Cur;
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As if no place but Lincolns-Inn,
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did harbour she destroyers,
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With Puritans he might begin,
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they wench as well as Lawyers:
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You Nonconformist-crop-ears, peace,
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and rail not against Wenchers,
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With you, Fanatick Babes encrease,
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far more than with the Benchers.
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Thou who want'st judgement talk'st of it,
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like a vile canting Varlet,
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And exercisest thy No-wit
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against an honest Harlot,
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Out of our house should she depart,
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she'l learn to be more fickle,
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Lifting up whorish eyes with Art,
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at zealous Conventicle.
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You, etc.
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She went upstairs thou sayest at ten,
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and what of that you Tony,
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At twelve the learned'st of your men
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tip'd over the Balcony:
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To this so strange a sight there came
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a hundred pious sticklers,
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But all went off again with shame,
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like crop-ear'd Conventiclers:
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You, etc.
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It seems he call'd himself a Cat,
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and would have been a gibing,
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Her husband understanding that,
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came in and spoil'd his nibing:
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Says he, Cats fall upon their feet,
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when downwards they are tumbled,
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So down he threw him in the street,
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till his proud flesh was humbled:
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You, etc.
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But for the wench and Laundress Ruth,
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I must confess the story,
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That there was something in't of truth,
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but all is for our glory:
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We keep the Child we have begot,
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and able are to bear it,
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Whilst others, do, or do it not,
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are ready to forswear it:
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You, etc.
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Is not this better than to go
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at night to the Peatches,
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Reeling and rambling to and fro,
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In danger of the Watches:
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And meet at last a drab or so,
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with Petticoats bedagled,
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Or with a pocky Barren-doe,
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that from the Park has stragled:
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You, etc.
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Woe and alas! your Rudder's spoil'd,
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I pitty your mishap,
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And though you get not her with child,
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you get your self with clap:
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Then you go home and curse the whore,
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with all her Art-full dry-blows,
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Finding one pox to cost you more,
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than keeping twenty by-blows:
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You Nonconformist-crop-ears, peace,
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and rail not against Wenchers,
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With you, Fanatick Babes encrease,
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far more than with the Benchers.
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Thus you abroad with hazard roam,
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to find out Harlots fulsome,
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While we more safely prey at home,
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upon a Girl that's wholsome:
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Look to yourselves, your case is worse,
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dry up your flubbring Ink-horn,
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I'le warrant you we'l find a Nurse,
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for our young Tom-a-Lincoln;
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You, etc.
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A Bencher's Grand-child! you mistake,
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you silly Rogue, I scorn ye,
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If a Lawyers Son a Lawyer makes,
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his Bastard's an Attourney:
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And thus our Tom in little time,
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shall grow to be our Brother,
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As a Bawds Daughter whores betime,
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t'enrich her greasie Mother;
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You, etc.
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As for the woman, I confess
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we wrapt her in a Gown,
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And whosoever had done less,
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had been an arrant Clown;
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For being to be call'd to' th bar,
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and turn a female pleader,
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'Twas reason we should have a care,
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she should not shame our Reader;
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You, etc.
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Long may she live a merry crack,
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brisk, airy, gay, and fruitful,
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She never anything shall lack,
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so long as she is youthful:
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Grown old, her Daughters shall turn up,
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to please our youthful Wenchers,
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As when we've eat our Commons up,
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we fall upon our Trenchers;
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You, etc.
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As for young Tom I doubt it not,
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he'l make some Learned spark,
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More wit he has already got,
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then an Attourneys Clerk;
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Before that ever he could speak,
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he su'd for Alimony,
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Instead of Mothers-milk, he'd take
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no Liquor but Stipony;
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You, etc.
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Then blame not us of Lincolns-Inn,
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for what has hapned to us,
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Such wenching is a gainful sin,
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that never will undoe us;
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For we shall keep the bantling cheap,
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among so many purses,
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Like Citizens that take a leap
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amongst their Country Nurses.
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God bless the King and Queen, likewise
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the House of Lords and Commons,
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But truly we shall ne'r despise
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something that is a womans,
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For should the Laws cart every one,
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that loves a little cracking,
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The City would be quite undone,
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their Wives must all be packing.
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