I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
Oh, things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake, or fair.
At Charing-Cross, hard by the way,
Where we (thou knowst) do sell our hay,
There is a house with stairs;
And there did I see coming down
Such folk as are not in our town,
Vorty, at least, in pairs.
Amongst the rest, one pestlent fine
(His beard no bigger though than thine)
Walkd on before the rest:
Our landlord looks like nothing to him:
The King (God bless him) twould undo him,
Should he go still so drest.
At Course-a-Park, without all doubt,
He should have first been taken out
By all the maids ith town:
Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.
But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing;
The parson for him stayd:
Yet by his leave (for all his haste),
He did not so much wish all past
(Perchance), as did the maid.
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale
Could ever yet produce:
No grape, thats kindly ripe, could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.
Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on, which they did bring;
It was too wide a peck:
And to say truth (for out it must)
It lookd like the great collar (just)
About our young colts neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feard the light:
But oh! she dances such a way
No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.
He would have kissed her once or twice,
But she would not, she was nice,
She would not dot in sight,
And then she looked as who should say
I will do what I list to day;
And you shall dot at night.
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,
(Who sees them is undone);
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Catherine pear
(The side thats next the sun).
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compard to that was next her chin;
(Some bee had stung it newly);
But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze
Than on the sun in July.
Her mouth so small, when she does speak,
Thoudst swear her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.
If wishing should be any sin,
The Parson himself had guilty been;
(She looked that day so purely,)
And did the youth so oft the feat
At night, as some did in conceit,
It would have spoild him, surely.
Passion o me, how I run on!
Theres that that would be thought upon
(I trow) besides the bride.
The business of the kitchens great,
For it is fit that men should eat;
Nor was it there denied.
Just in the nick the cook knockd thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His summons did obey:
Each serving-man, with dish in hand,
Marchd boldly up, like our traind band,
Presented, and away.
When all the meat was on the table,
What man of knife or teeth was able
To stay to be intreated?
And this the very reason was,
Before the parson could say grace,
The company was seated.
Now hats fly off, and youths carouse,
Healths first go round, and then the house,
The brides came thick and thick;
And when twas namd anothers health,
Perhaps he made it hers by stealth;
And who could help it, Dick?
O th sudden up they rise and dance;
Then sit again and sigh, and glance;
Then dance again and kiss:
Thus sevral ways the time did pass,
Whilst evry woman wishd her place,
And evry man wishd his.
By this time all were stoln aside
To counsel and undress the Bride;
But that he must not know:
But yet twas thought he guessd her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind
Above an hour or so.
When in he came (Dick) there she lay
Like new-faln snow melting away,
(Twas time I trow to part)
Kisses were now the only stay,
Which soon she gave, as who would say,
Good Boy! with all my heart.
But just as heavns would have to cross it,
In came the Bridemaids with the Posset:
The Bridegroom eat in spite;
For had he left the Women tot
It would have cost two hours to dot,
Which were too much that night.
At length the candles out and out,
All that they had not done, they dot:
What that is, who can tell?
But I believe it was no more
Then thou and I have done before
With Bridget, and with Nell.