The KNIGHT and 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.
|
I Met with a jovial Beggar,
|
And into the fields I led her,
|
and I laid her upon the ground;
|
Her face did not invite me,
|
Nor her smock did much delight me,
|
But I think the young whore was sound;
|
With Ladies both fresh and gay
|
I often did sport and play,
|
Yet a Begger I'll take
|
For varities sake,
|
She'll please me as well as they.
|
I have a good wife, as fair
|
As ever drew English Air,
|
her pleasure is past compare,
|
Her cherry lips, cheeks, and eyes,
|
Her belly, her breast, and thighs,
|
might any but I suffice;
|
With her I so often play,
|
And weary my time away,
|
That a fouler to me,
|
Would be fairer than she,
|
Variety wins the day.
|
This Beggar I should describe,
|
Without any hope of bribe,
|
was one of the wandering tribe;
|
She had a f[i]ne foot and leg,
|
As nimble as doe or stag,
|
and then she began to beg,
|
So soon as any horse she sees,
|
She fell down upon her knees,
|
The whore had a sack,
|
That hung at her back
|
Well furnish'd with bread and cheese.
|
She struck me into a dump,
|
the Jade was both young and plump,
|
with a round & ranting rump;
|
Her feature had so much force,
|
It raised in me remorse,
|
and drew me quite off my horse;
|
But when I began to wooe
|
She told me she would not do:
|
Quoth I, pritty Mort,
|
Let me shew you some sport;
|
She kist me, and answered no.
|
My horse to a twig I ty'd,
|
The Beggar-wench then reply'd,
|
Good master get up and ride;
|
Yes, so I will straight (thought I,)
|
With that I drew something nigh,
|
she strugled and cry'd, Fie, fie,
|
I am but a Beggar by breed;
|
Quoth I, Let me do this deed,
|
for he that will scorn,
|
A Beggar-wench born,
|
May want a good turn at need.
|
Then into her arms I claps,
|
Quoth she. Now I'm in your traps,
|
what shall I do with my scraps?
|
Throw them in the bush, said I.
|
No, no, she did straight reply,
|
there's pig[,] and pudding, and pie,
|
We beg for better or worse,
|
My blessings I will not curse.
|
Why then, quodh I,
|
Go run presently
|
[A]nd throw it thwart my horse.
|
She then (in a merry vein)
|
Did trip to me back again,
|
to put me out of my pain,
|
Rhe dazelled so my sight,
|
That neither by day or night,
|
I ever had such delight,
|
So close to me now she clings,
|
And flutters abroad her wings.
|
but my bashful jade,
|
asham'd of the trade,
|
Brake loose and away she flings.
|
I rise and away ran I,
|
The Beggar-wench then did cry,
|
My pig and my puding-pie;
|
I ran and I cursed and swore,
|
Untill I came to my door,
|
but the horse was got home before:
|
I bad the wench stay behind,
|
And told her I would be kind;
|
but when I came home,
|
I look[']d like a Mome,
|
I wish'd that I had been blind.
|
My wife and my neighbours all
|
Did laugh, ye might hear 'em bawl
|
from Temple-bar to White-hall,
|
My sweet-heart's provant was sound,
|
Which lay in the wallet bound,
|
and scatter'd upon the ground;
|
The sight of my wife did daunt,
|
And make my heart prick and pant,
|
Sir Thomas, quoth she,
|
And spake merrily,
|
Where got you this good provant?
|
Thought I, it is best to bear up,
|
Although of this venemous cup,
|
I take but a sorroful sup,
|
In the twinkling of ones eyes,
|
I thought of a thousand lyes,
|
bud ne'r a one would suffice;
|
I many things had in doubt,
|
Yet could not well bring 'em about,
|
As I went to begin,
|
The wentch came in,
|
And so came the story out.
|
My Lady did laugh out-right,
|
As if she had much delight,
|
but I found it not so [a]t night,
|
I gave t[h]e poor wench a peice,
|
But wisht she had been in Greece,
|
to tell such a tale as this;
|
My Madam doth make it slight,
|
But I have got nothing by't,
|
for when she wants her wish,
|
it is thrown in my dish,
|
I'd better been hang'd out-right.
|
|
|
|
|
|