The London-Libertine:
OR,
The Lusty GALLANT['s]
New Ingenious Way of Living.
To the Tune of, The Ginny wins her.
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I Am as bold a Hector,
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As most is in the Nation,
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Inflam'd with smiling Nectar,
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Then, then, to Admiration,
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I Court the Ladies fair and gay,
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'Tis in vain for them to say me nay;
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I first ador'd their Charms,
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Then clasp them in my Arms,
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And tho' perchance they cry,
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Be Civil, Sir, O fie!
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Yet still they'll panting lye,
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For they, they, do love a little wanton play.
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There is not one in twenty,
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Has power to deny me,
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I give them Kisses plenty,
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Then strait they sit down by me;
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Let her be Widow, Maid or Wife,
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For a time I love as dear as life;
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If she be young and fair,
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There's no degree I spare,
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From Ladies of Renown,
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In City, Court and Town,
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To Nancys Russet-gown,
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I go, go, this seven Years it has been so.
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There never was a Squire,
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That could the least out-vie me;
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Long Wigg and rich Attire,
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I can afford to buy me:
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For while the Merchant walks the Cha[ng]e,
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I can in his little Warren range,
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And freely play the Game,
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Which I forbear to name;
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And when the Sport is o'er,
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There's a reward in store,
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Bright Ginneys half a score,
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Thus I, I, have ever more a full supply.
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There's five or six and thirty,
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Young Dames that do adore me,
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And Faith, I can't be durty,
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when they in Tears implore me,
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For something which I have to give,
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If I am, then never let me live;
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Like to the tender Dove,
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I'll grant them Love for Love,
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Tho' Beauty wanting be,
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If there be Ginneys free,
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all a case to me,
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I'll mow, mow, Tis Money makes the Mare to go.
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A Tailor's Wife, poor Woman,
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One Morning chance to meet me,
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Her Husband he was no Man,
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Therefore she did intreat me
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To stand her friend in time of need,
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Saying, It was a charitable Deed,
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Besides, she laid me down,
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Two Ginneys and a Crown:
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Here's all I have, she cry'd,
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I hant a Groat beside,
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Let me not be deny'd,
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Kind Sir, Sir, my Husband is a poor Tailor.
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The Gold I did admire,
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brighter than her Beauty,
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I could not well deny her,
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But straight I did my Duty;
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And in three quarters of a Year,
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She had a young Son and Daughter dear;
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Which makes her Heart full glad,
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The Tailor he's a Dad,
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As well he may suppose;
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He little thinks sweet Rose,
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Is one of my dear Does,
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But sweet Soul, she is the leventh in my Role.
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