Buxom Joan of Lymas' Love to a jolly Sailer: OR, The Maiden's Choice: Being LOVE for LOVE again.  
To an excellent new Playhouse Tune.  
 

A Soldier and a Sailer, A Tinker and a Tailor,  
Had once a doubtful strife, Sir  
To make a Maid a Wife, Sir,  
Whose name was buxom Joan.  
Whose name was buxom Joan,  
For now the time was ended,  
When she no more intended  
To lick her lips at Men, Sir,  
and gnaw the sheets in vain, Sir,  
And lie o'nights alone,  
And lie o'nights alone.   

The Soldier swore like thunder,  
He loved her more than plunder;  
And showed her many a scar, Sir,  
Which he had brought from far, Sir,  
With fight for her sake.  
With fight, etc.   

The Tailor thought to please her,  
With offering her his Measure:  
The Tinker too with mettle,  
Said he could mend her kettle,  
And stop up ev'ry leak.  
And stop, etc.   

But while those three were prating,  
The Sailer slyly waiting;  
Thought if it came about, Sir,  
That they should all fall out, Sir,  
He then might play his part.  
He then, etc.   

And just even as he meant, Sir,  
To Loggerheads they went, Sir,  
And then he let fly at her,  
A shot 'twixt wind and water,  
Which won this fair Maid's heart.  
Which won, etc.   

The Soldier being frustrate,  
Like Boreas loudly blustered,  
And would have satisfaction,  
For such a treacherous action,  
Done by the cunning Tar,  
Done by, etc.   

But he aboard his Pinnace,  
Ne'er feared the Bully's menace,  
But lustily he plied, Sir,  
Against both wind and tide, Sir,  
Like any Man of War,  
Like any, etc.   

The Tailor holdly vows too,  
He'll serve him like a Louse too,  
And with his bloody shears, Sir,  
Will out off both his ears, Sir,  
For stealing of his Love,  
For stealing, etc.   

But he his end had compassed,  
And laughed at Bodkin's bombast;  
Still pointing right his needle,  
He launched into the middle;  
She tossed and heaved; he drove,  
She tossed, etc.   

Then, next, the Man of mettle  
Began to beat his Kettle,  
And swore, that (with a pox) he  
Would thump him and his doxy,  
If ever he came near,  
If ever, etc.  
But still the merry Sailer,   

Defied Buff, Brass, and Tailor,  
Whilst, in his jolly mood, her  
He managed with his rudder,  
And right his course did steer,  
And right, etc.    

LONDON: Printed for P▪ Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in Pie-corner.