BO-PEEP, OR THE JERKING PARSON Catechising his MAID;
A pleasant BALLAD to the Tune of
Notcrof's Delight.
VVHen
Oliver that
Imp[?] of Mars
did rule the English land,
And London trembled at his force
from
Algate to the strand;
Disorders did there
Most frequent appear,
As by this one you'l understand.
There was a Parson (so tis said)
a
Crafty one I wot,
Who in his house a pretty maid
for exercise had got:
Vpon every fault
She did, she was brought
Coram nobis, and went to the pot.
He catechiz'd early and late,
and to her duty firkt her,
Well could he preach, well could he prate,
for hee's an able jerker:
Before and behind
'twixt water and wind
He fetcht her up stifly, & yerkt her.
The man was a man of conscience,
and guided by the spirit
To handle the flesh of the wench,
according to her merit:
The flesh being proud,
Though sh'e were but a dowd,
He knew the way well how to curry't.
Reproof with a cudgel breakes bones,
and other weapons gash;
A rod is a tool for the nonce,
that gives the gentle slash:
The girle was but young,
And shame ties her tongue,
Whilst he brings her under the lash.
For breaking of commandements,
of which there was no lack,
She's punished to all intents
by the little man in black.
Though n'ere so demure,
Her coats fly up sure
As she hath a coat to her back.
When table was not rubbed bright
(which handkercheif did try)
Or any thing not set to right,
belongs to huswifery;
He took up her smock,
And he lash't her nock,
And corrected her zealously.
Sabbath-neglects he's sure to pay,
though to a Sabbath breach;
For prating once whilst he did pray,
he fetcht up the poor wretch:
And he set the fool
on the penitent stool,
Whilst he a private Lecture preacht.
One time above all was very sad,
(upon some small omission.)
The custome of women then she had,
(a pitifull condition)
Yet he administers
The usuall glisters;
For hee's her ghostly physician.
Although she cry out, and lament,
though down she fals, and kneels,
Yet he knows not how to releat,
and no compassion feels:
For it was his use
To take no excuse,
Till he saw bloud run down her heels.
SOme question the mans discretion
to meddle thus with's maid,
And think it a forward passion,
that put him on this trade:
It being's wif'es place;
Since
Mol, Peg, and
Grace
By Mistresses hand should be paid.
True, had his wife bin very young,
a brave and lustie pudge,
In hand as able as in tongue,
he need not play'd the drudge.
But sh
[...]'s very old,
As I have been told,
Which made the man to the work trudge.
Wherefore to spare his consorts arm,
and her two paire of eyes,
Which could have done the wench no harm;
He t'execution hies.
With vigorous might
And a nimble sight
To look babies in the maides thighs.
But the wicked do fleer and mock,
and tauntingly give out,
The Parson sure is a smell-smock:
now fy, ungodly rout,
Did he but hear,
Hee'd teach you to jeer,
And
indite you all t'other bout.
Indeed, I confesse, were his taile
as hot as his head the while;
With a wench hee'd play truss a faile,
soon as any within a mile:
But he of all sure
Can't the smock indure,
'Bout surplice he keeps such a coile.
If Babylon's whore her self
should come a cross his way,
Be she n'ere so gallant. the elf
would trounce her fine array.
For when he is vext
And a breech is his text,
Hee'l be sure to claw it away.
Every stroke he aim'd aright
the wench he never mist her.
He laid on blowes with all his might,
nor us'd her like a sister:
His arme had a spring,
And so frely did fling,
That every jerk rais'd a blister.
As the devil in his wild fits
hug'd the witch, so he did hug her
He stung her with unlucky hits:
I shall not speak t' in mugger,
He hath got the odds
Of westminster rods,
Though manag'd by black Jack Bugger.
He's a friend of the Kings he brags,
as back-friend to all rumps;
Hee'd taw'd Bum politick to jags.
and put um to their trumps:
Hewsons strap,
Prides sling,
Could not give the ding
As his rod, which he wore to the stumps.
Let none doubt the truth of this story,
although it seem absurd:
Much truer it is then John Dory,
for it is upon record:
When were't not for
Pack,
The Presbyter
Jack
Had paid for his peeping, I heard.
A triall there was in guild-hall,
I shall not, readers, jobe ye;
Court set, the maid swore point-blanck; all
the people shouted, Ho boy!
he was in a shrape,
he could hardly scape,
For tickling th' Apocryphal Toby.
Her dying mothers oath came in,
which witnessed the same;
His wives oath though, if not from sin,
yet sav'd him from the shame:
For the parish Pope
Can give himself scope
To cog a dy in an ill game.
One word to the vestry let me speake,
one word, I say, or twain,
Ere my discourse I off do break.
for parson whipsters gain,
That you him prefer
To be Lecturer
To London-maids in Birchen-lane.
Printed for the Belman of ALGATE by order of the Ward.