The London Lasses Folly, OR, The MAIDEN Beguil'd.

This Maiden wild she was Beguil'd,
to loose her Maiden-Head,
And when that he had got his will,
away from her he fled.
To the Tune of, The Iourney-man Shooe-maker.

This may be Printed, R. L. S.

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NOt long ago it chanced so,
abroad as I was walking▪
A Damsel fair I soon espy'd,
and to her self was talking:
Ah! woe is me, poor wretch quoth she,
that had not forecast rather.
For now I am grown big with Bearn,
but I do not know the Father.
One night when I lay in my Bed,
to sleep as it was needful,
And having but a careless head,
and being much unheedful▪
A young-man came, but not his name
by him I could not gather,
That night i'me sure I prov'd with bearn
but I do not know the Father▪
He made no stay, but whipt away,
when he had had his pleasure,
O that nights work hath me undone,
I may repent at leisure;
Now will I ramble up and down,
to find out this young shaver,
For if he live in London-town,
my Child shall have a Father.

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I think no Carpenter was he,
no Shipwright, nor no Saylor,
I rather think it for to be
some lusty jovial Taylor:
Or if he were a Glover good,
a Black-Smith, or a Weaver,
My meaning may be understood,
my Child should have a Father.
Or if he were a Butcher bold,
a Baker, or a Brewer,
No secret place my friend shall hold
but I will find him sure▪
Or if he were a Serving-man,
a Royster, or a Shaver.
I'le find my Gallant if I can,
my Child must have a Father.
But if I can by no means find
the Man that I adorn Sir,
I'le rest my self content in mind,
until my Child is born Sir;
And when he comes to 7 years old,
I by my Child shall gather,
For he will be of qualities
like unto his right Father.
For if a Fleming got my Child,
he will eat all the Butter
Or if he be a Spaniard wild,
he'll keep a deadly clutter:
Of if he be an Irish Teague,
my Child will ride the Hobby,
Or if he be a Welsh-man like,
Cotts-Plues he loves Cows-Bobby.
Or if he be a Scotch-mans Son,
he will begin a Quarrel,
Or if he be of French-mans Bone,
he'l pawn his best aparrel:
Or if he be a Souldiers Son,
I'le buy him a Hat and Feather,
And with a Drum i'le send my Son▪
to seek out his right Father.
When she had finish'd all her talk,
from thence she soon departed,
And then another way did walk,
both blith and merry hearted;
But then I cannot now surmise,
or any way can gather,
Or which way then she could, deuise
to find out her Childs-Father.

Printed for C. Dennisson, at the Stationers Arms within Aldgate.

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