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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 the 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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