THE Poor Whore's Lamentation:
OR,
The Fleet-street Crack's Complaint FOR Want of TRADING.
To the Tune of,
The Guinea wins her, &c.
Licensed according to Order.
PRay hear my Lamentation
young Gallants of the City,
Without dissimulation
Afford one grain of pitty;
Unto a Lady of the Town,
Cloath'd in a ragged tatter'd Gown,
For Traiding's grown so dead,
Upon my Maiden-head,
Tha
[...] though abroad I stay,
I do not yearn I say
Sometimes a groat a day;
We are poor, the trade was never so before.
I once did wear my Tower,
Rich Silks and sumptuous Laces,
They all were in my power,
I got them by Embaces;
My Chain and Locket both of Gold,
Which was most delightful to behold,
And Sparks did me adore,
I rol'd in Guinneys store;
This was a living Trade,
My Plumes I then display'd,
And kept my Waiting-maid,
But now, now, their Trade will not such State allow.
They treated me with Nector,
To gain a minute's pleasure,
Yet over them I'd hector
And make them wait my leasure,
I was the topping Crack of all,
Noble Lords would at my Lodging call;
I went in rich Array,
Much like a Lady gay,
But now my Sleves of Lawn,
And Smocks are all in pawn,
My Cullies are withdrawn,
I strange, strange, at such a sad and dismal change.
My price it was a Guinny,
Not long before last
Easter,
But now there is so many,
I'm glad to take a Teaster,
For why the Trade is spoil'd of late
There's little
Nan
[...]y, Bridget, P
[...]ue and
Kate,
They'll play at you no what,
For Two-pence and a Pot;
And thus quite through the Town,
The prizes are run down,
We ne'er get half-a-crown,
Well paid, those
Gillians has so spoil'd the Trade.
There's
Bridget, Prue and
Nancy,
They'r fond and foolish Nises,
If they a Cully fa
[...]cy,
They'll never stand for prizes,
Immediately on him they'll dore,
But this makes them wear a Thread-bare-Coat;
And I among the rest,
With sorrows am opprest,
To see it worse and worse,
If it continues thus,
I shall be bound to Curse,
Them all, who first did let their Prizes fall.
I was as fair a Creature,
As most was in the Nation,
You never saw a sweeter,
When in my Golden Station,
My beauty is not much decay'd,
For if I had but a living Trade,
I shou'd be fine and gay,
Then Gallants come away,
My name is loving
Nell,
I do in
Fleet-street dwell,
And I shall use you well,
Come amain, and raise my honour once again.
LONDON: Printed for J. Bissel, near the Hospital in West-Smithfield.