The London Lasses Folly, OR, The MAIDEN Beguiled.  
This Maiden wild she was Beguiled,  
to lose her Maidenhead,  
And when that he had got his will,  
away from her he fled.  
To the Tune of, The journeyman Shoemaker.  
This may be Printed, R. L. S.  
 

NOt long ago it chanced so,  
abroad as I was walking▪  
A Damsel fair I soon espied,  
and to herself 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 youngman came, but not his name  
by him I could not gather,  
That night i'm sure I proved with bearn  
but I do not know the Father▪   

He made no stay, but whipped away,  
when he had had his pleasure,  
O that night's 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.   
 

I think no Carpenter was he,  
no Shipwright, nor no Sailor,  
I rather think it for to be  
some lusty jovial Tailor:  
Or if he were a Glover good,  
a Blacksmith, 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 Servingman,  
a Roister, or a Shaver.  
I'll 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'll rest myself 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 Welshman like,  
Cotts-Plues he loves Cows-Bobby.   

Or if he be a Scotchmans' Son,  
he will begin a Quarrel,  
Or if he be of Frenchman's Bone,  
he'll pawn his best apparel:  
Or if he be a Soldier's Son,  
I'll buy him a Hat and Feather,  
And with a Drum i'll send my Son▪  
to seek out his right Father.   

When she had finished all her talk,  
from thence she soon departed,  
And then another way did walk,  
both blithe and merry hearted;  
But than I cannot now surmise,  
or any way can gather,  
Or which way then she could, device  
to find out her Childs-Father.    

Printed for C. Dennisson, at the Stationer's Arms within Aldgate.