Twangdillo Jolly Roger Twangdillo of Plouden Hill The first that brake Ice was a Lass had been Born of a good House, but decay'd;. Her Gown was new Dy'd, and her Night-trail clean, And to sing and talk French had been breed; She'd dance Northern Nancy, Ask'd Parler vous Francey, That Hodge might her breeding see, She'd roll her black Eye, Breathe short with a sigh, When e'er she came nigh Twangdillo... The next was a Sempstress of Stature Low, That fancy'd she wanted a Male, Her Hair was as black as an autumn Sloe, And hard as a Coach horse's Tail; She'd Oagle and Wheedle And prick with her Needle, "What d'lack, what d' buy," cry'd she? But now the brisk Tone, Is chang'd to a Groan, Ah! pity my moan, Twangdillo... A musty old Chambermaid lean and tall, The next as a Suitor app ears, With a Tongue loud and shrill but no Teeth at all For time had drawn them many Years: Cast Gowns and such Lumber, Old Smocks without number, She bragg'd should her Dowry be, Forty pair of Lac'd Shoes, Ribbons Green, red and Blues, But all would not noose, Twangdillo... A Vintner's fat Widow then straight was viewed, Whose Cuckold had pick'd up some Pelf-. He'd killed half his Neighbours with Wine he'd brew'd, And lately had Poison'd himself. With Bumpers of Claret, No Souse paying for it, She'd Roger's Companion be.; Strike Fist on the Board, Huzza was the Word, Come kiss me adored Twangdillo... Till at last pretty Nancy, a farmer's Joy, That newly a Milking had been, Round fac'd, Cherry-cheek'd, with a smirking Eye, Came tripping it over the Green. She mov'd like a Goddess, And in her lac'd Bodice, A span she could hardly be; Her Hips were plump grown,
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