THE YEOMAN OF KENT

In Kent, I hear, there lately did dwell
Long George, a yeoman by trade,
Plump, lively, and young, brisk, jolly, and strong,
Who fugelled the parson's fine maid.

And her ruffdom, ruffdom, frizledom madg,
And her hey rump, frizledum de,
Rowze about, towze about, seek all the house about,
Under the bed was he.

It once fell out, on a moon-shiny night,

It seems his passion did move,

He thought fit to woo her and do something to her,

So great was the pow'r of his love.

At window then he softly did call,

"Sweet, amber Mary pray rise,

Since May Day our dancing, love, has been advancing,

And thou art my beautiful prize."

"Fye, George," she cries, "those words are but toys,
For my master sleeps in his bed,
The door it is locked, and I'm in my smock--
Be gone, there's no more to be said."

"The God of Love," says he, "wounded me
And bade me fly to thy arms.
I must and I will, this night have my fill
And taste of thy luscious charms."

"Did love command, dear Georgy, thy hand?

For then it can be no sin."

He scrawling, she tugging, with hawling and lugging,

Through the window at last he got in.

They were so fierce they made the bed squeak.
The parson heard them, 'tis said,
Who, marriage obeying, and with his wife praying,
Found one did the same to his maid.

Then both soon rose, but Georgy was gone,

Who heard the noise that they made,

That they might not find him and otherwise bind him,

He screwed himself under the bed.

But 'twould not do, the wife found him out,
Brown bum blazed under the bed;

"Oh, Mary," she swore, "Godswoons you're a whore
And soon you in jail shall be laid."

The parson cries, "You wicked, you dong,
How durst you do such a folly?
For to save strife, I may preach to my wife,
I sometimes sing anthems with Molly."

Then out he pulled tall George in his shirt
And gave him with bedstaff some blows,
Then sent him away to his farm before day
Without ever a rag of his clothes.

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THE SHEPHERD

A shepherd sat 'neath a tree one day
And as the shadows grew more long
Pull'd out his pipe and began to play
And sweet and merry was his song.

A country damsel from the town
With basket made of woven straw
Came gathering rushes on the down
And boldly smiled when she him saw.

The shepherd's pipe did gaily sound
As tempting on her back she lay
And when his quivering note she found
How sweetly then this lass could play.

She ne'er so much as blush'd at all
So sweetly play'd her shepherd swain
But e'er anon to him she'd call
To play her another double strain.

The shepherd again did tune his pipe
And play'd her a lesson loud and shrill.
The maid his face did often wipe
With many a thank for his good will.

She said, "I ne'er was so pleas'd before
And this is the first time that I knew thee.
Come play me this very tune once more
And never doubt that I'll dance to thee."

The shepherd, he said, "As I am a man,
I have kept playing from sun till moon.
Thou knowst I can do no more than I can,
My pipe is clearly out of tune."

"To ruin a shepherd, I'll not seek,"

She said as she kiss'd him 'neath the tree.

"I'll come again to the down next week

And thou shalt pipe and I'll come to thee."

OLD BRASS TO MEND

It was a Lady of the North, she loved a Gentleman,
And knew not well what course to take, to use him now and then.
Wherefore she writ a letter, and sealed it with her hand,
And bid him be a Tinker, to mend both pot and pan.

With a hey ho, derry down,
With a hey ho, derry down.

When he came to the Lady's house, he knocked at the gate;
Then answered this Lady gay, "Who knocketh there so late?"
"'Tis I, Madam," the Tinker said, "I work for gold and fee:
If you have broken pots or pans, come bring them all to me."

But when the Lady knew his face, she then began to wink;
"Haste, lusty Butler!" then quoth she, "To fetch the man some drink.
Give him such meat as we do eat, and drink as we do use.
It is not for a Tinker's trade good liquor to refuse."

But when that he had eat and drunk, the truth of all is so,
The Lady took him by the sleeve, her work to him to show.
"Let up thy tools, Tinker," quoth she, "and see there be none lost,
And mend my kettle handsomely, what e'er it doth me cost."

"Your work, Madam, shall be well done, but to my fee now hark:
For every nail that I do drive, you shall give me a mark.
If I not drive the nail full in, I'll have nothing for my pain,
And what I do receive of you shall be return'd again."

At last he came into the room where he the work should do.
The Lady lay down on the bed, so did the Tinker, too.
Although the Tinker knocked amain, the Lady was not offended,
And before that she rose from the bed, her cauldron was well mended.

But when his work was at an end, which he did in the dark,
She put her hand into her purse and gave him twenty mark.
"Here's money for thy work," said she, "and I thank thee for thy pain,
And when ray cauldron mending lacks I'11 send for thee again."

The Tinker he was well content for that which he had done,
So took his budget on his back, and quickly he was gone.
The Lady to her husband went, "Oh, my dear Lord," quoth she,
"I've had the bravest Tinker that ever you did see."

"No fault at all this Tinker hath, but he takes dear for his work.
That little time that he wrought here, it cost me twenty mark."
"If you had been so wise," quoth he, "for to have held your own,
Before you set him to this work, the price you might have known."

"Pray hold your peace, my Lord," she said, "and think it not too dear.
If you could do't so well, 'twould save you forty pounds a year."
With that the Lord most lovingly, to make all things amends,
He kindly kist his Lady gay, and so they both were friends.

You merry Tinkers, every one, that hear this new-made sonnet,
When e'er you do a Lady's work, be sure you think upon it;
Drive home your nails to the very head, and do your work profoundly,
And then, no doubt, your Mistresses will pay you for it soundly.

CELIA

To charming Celia's arms I flew
And all night long I feasted,
No god such pleasures ever knew
Or mortal ever tasted.

Lost in such delicious joy
And blessed beyond expressing,
I asked, "Pray tell me how I may
Reward so great a blessing?

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"The richest jewel, the brightest star,
A mighty monarch's treasure,
Is all too poor a price by far
To purchase so much pleasure."

She blushed and said, "The feast was fine,
But ere the sun comes up
All I ask is one more time,
To come and fill my cup."

AS I WALKED IN THE WOODS

As I walked in the woods one evening of late,
A lass was deploring her hapless estate;
In a languishing posture, poor maid, she appears,
All swelled with her sighs and flushed with her tears;
She cried and she sobbed, and I found it was all
For a little of that which Harry gave Doll.

At last she broke out, wretched, she said,
"Will not youth come succour a languishing maid
With what he with ease and pleasure may give,
Without which, alas, poor I cannot live!
Shall I never leave sighing and crying and call
For a little of that which Harry gave Doll?

"At first when I saw a young man in the place,
My color would fade and then flush in my face,
My breath it grew short and I shivered all o'er,
My breast never popped up and down so before,
I scarce knew for what, but now I find it was all
For a little of that which Harry gave Doll."

THE MERRY WEDDING

A jolly young grocer of London town
Fell deeply in love with a maid;
But often he courted her to lie down
But she told him that she was afraid.

He tried to enthuse her
But still she refused
To consent to his wicked will;
She said, "You must tarry,
Until we do marry,
And then you shall have your fill."

And so it did seem that he could not obtain
The blessings that he pursued,
For though he had tried again and again
She vowed that she would not be lewd.

At last he submitted
And thus he permitted
The parson to enter the door;
He knew not his bride
Had been tested and tried
By one that she loved before.

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And after the marriage had been declared
The drums and the fiddles arrived;
And oh what a thumping and bumping was there
To please his lovely bride.

There was fiddle, come fiddle,
With a hey, diddle, diddle,
And while the music played
There was kissing and loving
And heaving and shoving
To capture the heart of the maid.

But ere three months had passed away
A thumping baby was born.
"Confound you!" he was heard to say,
With bitterness and scorn.

"You're a strumpet," cries he;
"You're a cockold," cries she;
And finding himself betrayed,
There was hitting and fighting
And spitting and biting.
His jewel had proved a jade*

WHILST ALEXIS LAY PREST

Whilst Alexis lay prest

In her arms he lov'd best,

With his hands round her neck

And his head on her breast,

He found the fierce pleasure too hasty to say,

And his soul in the tempest just flying away.

When Celia saw this,

With a sigh, and a kiss,

She cry'd, "Oh my dear, I am robb'd of my bliss;

'Tis unkind to your love, and unfaithfully done,

To leave me behind you, and die all alone."

The Youth, though in haste,

And breathing his last,

In pity died slowly, while she died more fast,

Till at length she cry'd, "Now, my dear, let us go;

Now die, my Alexis, and I will die too."

Thus entranc'd they did lie,

Till Alexis did try

To recover new breath, that again he might die;

Then often they tried, but the more they did so,

The Nymph died more quick, and the Shepherd more slow.

HOW HAPPY'S THE MILLER

How happy's the miller
That lives by his mill,
That depends on his own
Not on fortune's will.
By the sleight of his hand and the strength of his back,
How merrily, how merrily, his mill goes clack-clack,
Clack-clack,

Clack-clack.
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If his wife proves a shrew

As oft is the case,

He knows what he can do

To bring smile to her face.
With his hand to the mill and his shoulder to the sack
He drowns all discord with his musical clack-clack,

Clack-clack,

Clack-clack.

O'er your wives and your daughters
He often prevails,
As he grinds at his mill
The method ne'er fails.
While the hoyden so willingly he lays on her back
All the while the stones cry clack-clack,
Clack-clack,

Clack-clack,

Clack-clack...

SIDE TWO

THE HIVE OF BEES

My mistress is a hive of bees
In yonder flow'ry garden.
To her they come with laden thighs
To ease them of their burden.

As under the beehive lieth the wax,

And under the wax is honey,

So under her waist her belly is placed,

And under that her cunny.

My mistress is a mine of gold,
Would that it were her pleasure,
To let me dig within her mould,
And roll among her treasure.

As under the moss the mould doth lie,

And under the mould is money,

So under her waist her belly is placed,

And under that her cunny.

My mistress is a morn of May,
Which drops of dew-down stilleth,
Where e'er she goes to sport and play,
The dew-down sweetly trilleth,

As under the sun the mist doth lie,

So under the mist is sunny,

So under her waist her belly is placed,

And under that her cunny.

My mistress is a pleasant spring,
That yieldth water sweet,
That doth refresh each withered thing
Lies trodden under feet.

Her belly is both white and soft,

And downy as a bunny,

That many gallants wish full oft

To play but with her cunny.

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My mistress hath the magic sprays,
Of late she takes such pain,
That she can pleasing spirits raise,
And lay them down again*

Such power hath my tripping doe,

My pretty, little bunny,

That many would their lives forego,

To play but with her cunny.

THE SOUND COUNTRY LASS

Give me the buxom country lass

Hot piping from the cow;

She'll take a touch upon the grass,

Ay, yes, and thank you, too,

Ay, yes, and thank you, too.

Her colour fresh as a rose in June,

Her temper as a dove,

She'll please the swain with a wholesome tune,

And freely give her love,

And freely give her love.

These London wenches are so stout,

They care not what they do;

They will not let you have a bout

Without a crown or two,

Without a crown or two.

They double their chaps and curl their locks,

Their breaths perfume they do;

Their tails are peppered with the pox

And that you're welcome to,

And that you're welcome to.

SHE ROSE TO LET ME IN

The night her silent sable wore

And glooming was the skies.

Of glittering stars appeared no more

Than those in Nelly's eyes.

When at her father's gate I knocked,

Where I had often been,

Shrouded only in her smock,

She rose to let me in.

Fast locked within my fond embrace,

She trembling stood ashamed.

Her glowing lips and heaving breasts

At every touch enflamed.

My eager passion I obeyed,

Resolved the fort to win,

And she at last gave her consent

To yield and let me in.

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Oh then what bliss beyond compare.

I knew no greater joy.

Enrolled in heavenly happiness,

So blessed a man was I,

And she all ravaged with delight

Bade me oft come again

And kindly vowed that every night

She'd rise and let me in.

But, ah, at last she proved with child

And sat both sad and dull,

And I who was as much concerned

Looked just then like a fool.

Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er,

Repenting her rash sin,

And, ay, she cursed the fatal hour

That e'er she let me in.

But who could from such beauty go

Or yet from Nelly part?

I loved her dear and could not leave

The charmer of my heart.

We wedded and concealed our crime,

Then all was well again,

And she doth bless the happy night

She rose to let me in.

THE COUNTRY WAKE

In our country and in your country
Where rufflers they were a-raking,
The rarest pastime that ever you see
Was when hay-cocks they were a-making,

A-making, a-making,
Was when hay-cocks they were a-making.

Timmy and Tom, with bottle and bag,

So merrily they were a-quaffing;

If you'd but seen how Joan's buttocks did wag,

You'd burst your heart with laughing,

With laughing, with laughing,
You'd burst your heart with laughing.

On another hay-cock was Vulcan, the smith,
With Dolly that came from the dairy,
She thought that his back was so full of pith,
Which made her so willing to tarry,

To tarry, to tarry,
Which made her so willing to tarry.

Then down in a dale was tumble-down Dick,

The wenches, they caught him and held him;

Since he could not give 'em the thing they did lack,

Poor fellow, they threatened to geld him,

To geld him, to geld him,
Poor fellow, they threatened to geld him.

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PILLYCOCK

Pillycock came to my lady's toe (heel) (shin) (knee) (thigh) (quilt),

And there the rascal began to go (feel) (grin) (see) (fly) (tilt).

Had he feet (hands) (teeth) (eyes) (wings) (a lance)?

Ay, marry had he.

And did he go (feel) (grin) (see) (fly) (tilt)?

Ay, marry did he.

So bolt upright and ready to fight

And Pillycock he lay there all night.

WHEN FLORA HAD ON HER NEW GOWN

When Flora had on her new gown-o,

And each pretty flower was blown-o,

Ere the scythe cut the grass,

I met a sweet lass,

And there in the green we lay down-o.

She got up again, and did frown-o,

And called me both coxcomb and clown-o,

'Cause I kissed lip and cheek,

T'other thing did not seek,

When I had her so neatly there down-o.

'Twixt anger and shame, then, a blush-o,

Came over my face with a flush-o;

But what I lost on the grass,

Like a good-natured lass,

She afforded me under a bush-o.

THE SPINNING WHEEL

A maid sat by her spinning wheel;

A bonny lad there pass'd her by;

She looked him o'er and liked him weel—

Good faith, he had a bonny eye:

Her heart now panting she did feel

But still she turn'd her spinning wheel.

Most gracefully he did appear

As he her presence did draw near

And round about her slender waist

He clasp'd his arms and her embraced;

To kiss her hand he down did kneel,

But still she turn'd her spinning wheel.

He stopp'd and gaz'd and blithely said,
"Now speed the wheel, my bonny maid,
But if thou'd to the hay-cock go,
I'd learn thee better work, I trow."
Good faith, the maiden liked him weel,
But still she turn'd her spinning wheel.
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He lowly took his bonnet off
And sweetly kist her lips so soft,
Yet still between each honey kiss
He urged her on to farther bliss:
Till she resistless fire did feel,
Then let alone her spinning wheel.

Among the pleasant cocks of hay,

Then, with her bonny lad, she lay;

What damsel ever could deny

A youth with such a charming eye?

The pleasure I cannot reveal,

It far surpast the spinning wheel.

THE END

Papilio, the rich, in a hurry of love,
Resolving to wed to fair Arabell Drove,
He made his proposals, he begg'd she would fix—
What maid could say "No" to a new coach-and-six?

We'll suppose they were wed, the guests bid, supper done,
The fond pair in bed, and the stocking was thrown.
The bride lay expecting to what this would tend,
Since created a wife, wish'd to know to what end.

On the wedding bed soft, the wedded pair rests,

The bridegroom's lips stopp'd on love's pillows, her breasts.

All amazement, impassive, the lady so fair,

With a sigh seem'd to prompt him, "Don't stay too long there."

All round her slim waist he encircled his arms.
He raptures rehears'd on her unpossess'd charms.
Says the fair one, and gap'd, "I hear all you pretend,
But now, for I'm sleepy, pray come to an end."

"My love ne'er shall end," Papilio replied,
But still unattempting, lay stretch'd at her side.
She moved as if something she meant to defend,
But found out, at last, it was all to no end.

In disdain starting up from the impotent boy,
She, sighing, pronounc'd, "There's an end of my joy."
She resolv'd this advice to her sex she would send,
"Never wed till you're sure you can wed to some end."

The end of our wishes, the end of our wives,
The end of our loves, and the end of our lives,
The end of conjunction, 'twixt mistress and male,
Tho' the head may design, has its end in the tail.

PRINTED
IN USA.

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