A Pleasant Ballad

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There is a buxom lass as any in our town.
She will not let you pass, but calls you to sit down.
A tailor passing by, she hit him on the heel
And said, "You're welcome, Sir, to sit you down and feel."

"What money's in my purse at your command shall be,
If you will go along to Marston Wake with me."
He hearing her say so, and seeing her to smile,
Was charmed with her, so he sat him down a while.

And having groped her purse and taken all her money,
He groped again, and missed, and caught her by the coney.
"Where am I now?" quoth he, "Another have I found."
"It's not the same," quoth she, "For this is tufted round."

"If it be tufted round," quoth she, "There is good reason for it,
Therein such treasure lies will make a tailor sport."
He hearing her say so, he was a jolly lad,
He wished to know about this other purse she had.

With that he eagerly to feel put forth his hand.
"Nay, hold, good sir," said she, "Go not before your stand:
Except you take your yard, the depth of it to measure,
You'll find the purse too deep, You'll hardly find your treasure."

He hearing her say so, it put him to a stand.
She seeing him dismayed, she took his yard in hand.
"Is this your yard?" quoth she, "Is this your tailor's measure?
It is too short for me, it is not standard measure."

Then looking fierce at him, she said, "Thou sneaking fool,
Go straight away to Vulcan and let him mend thy tool.
And tell him that Dame Venus at him is almost mad,
For sending her to school such an unfit lad."

You tailors that attempt fringed bags to measure,
Be sure your yards be sealed, and of full Standard Measure.

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