Poor Tom the Taylor
His Lamentation.
Giving an Account how he pickt up a Miss near the Maypole in the Strand, and also how he handed her to the Fair. where he treated her very generously, but according to the old proverb, sweet meat must have sower sauce, for while he was safe a snoring in Bed she very dexterously picked his pocket, leaving him to pay the Reckoning, without ever a penny in his purse, This unfortunate disaster may well be a warning to all the Taylors in or about London to forsake their old accustomed tricks, setting poor Tom before them as an example.
To the Tune of,
Daniel Cooper.
TOm the
Taylor near the
Strand,
he met a pretty Creature.
He kindly took her by the hand,
and vow'd that he would treat her,
He was kind and gave her wine,
a Glass of good Canary;
She was fair as might compare,
and
Tom was brisk and airy.
When
Tommy he did court his miss,
he called her his honey,
But she would not admit a kiss,
before she saw his money:
But when she did behold his coyn,
she was well contented,
Every penny shall be mine,
thy Pockets shall be emptyed.
She array'd in Flower'd silks,
and in costly Laces,
With a skin as white as milk,
these was sweet imbraces:
She called him her only joy,
and vow'd she'd ne'r deceive him,
As long as he had e're a Groat,
she would never leave him.
Straight they were convey'd to bed,
he fell soon a snoring,
Then a trick came in her head,
to fit him for his whoring:
By slight of hand she pickt his Purse,
and what did follow after,
She left him all the shot to pay,
like a cunning sharper.
When the morning day appear'd
he had never mist her,
And rousing up he turn'd about,
hoping to have kist her:
But when he found that she was gone,
Oh how he then lamented,
He cryed out he was undone,
he found his pocket emptied.
The
Taylor he got out of Bed,
he was sore discontented,
He tore the hair from off his head,
if seems he thus lamented:
In that his rage he curs'd the time,
when that he first beheld her,
For she had fun'd him of his Coin,
Oh then he could have kill'd her.
The Drawer he came up indeed,
with this discourse insuing,
Come pay me down my shot with speed,
or it shall prove your ruine:
The Drawer with such kind of words,
began for to afflict him,
He call'd him horeson Cuckolds bird,
and down the Stairs he kickt him.
The poor distressed
Taylor lookt,
as if he would have died,
And then he fell upon his knees,
and wrung his hands and cryed:
But yet his tears would not prevail,
they would not thus dismiss him,
But they did ferret him about,
that the
Taylor he bepist him.
The
Taylor see himself beset,
by those that stood about him,
Which caused him to chafe and fret,
to see how they did flout him:
He striped off his Coat and Cloak,
and they from him did take it,
And then they turn'd him out of doors
a little more then Naked.
You
Taylors all that keeps a Miss,
and deals so much in Courting,
They'l give to you a
Iudas kiss,
if you delight in Sporting:
You see poor
Tommy of your trade,
by Whoring was abused,
Which made him make a solemn vow
that he no more would use it.