DICK the Ploughman Turned Doctor, OR, The Lovesick Maiden Cured,  
Showing how a Country Maid in Kent fell in love with her Fellow-Servant Dick the man, and how he Cured her of her Sick Distemper, etc.  
To the Tune of, O Mother Roger, etc.  
This may be Printed, R.P.  
 
 

YOu Maidens all of London City,  
pray come nigh, and lend an ear:  
And th'event of this my Ditty,  
to you all I'll make appear:  
'Tis such a one will make you smile,  
make you smile, make you smile,  
Then pray Maidens stay a while.  
Some to hear't would come a Mile,  
But your hopes I'll not beguile,  
Nor your expectation spoil.   

Near Rochester in Kent there lived  
a brave Lass whose name was Bess,  
Such a Prank you ne'er did hear of,  
as to you I will express:  
'Tis such a one will make you smile,  
make you smile, make you smile,  
Then pray Maidens stay a while,  
Some to hear't would come a Mile;  
But your hopes I'll not beguile,  
Nor your expectation spoil,   

Now this Maid was brisk and merry,  
and had all things to content;  
Hold! I do forget to tell ye,  
there was something that ill went.  
To be short, Sir, this is it,  
this is it, this is it,  
That this Maid was very sick;  
Very, very, very Sick:  
Sick indeed, but pray for what,  
Oh! for something Dick has got,   
 

NOw Dick the Ploughman he was busy  
and this Maid was shamed to ask,  
Yet she thought with prither, prithee,  
for to win him at the last;  
But this was no perfect Cure,  
perfect Cure, perfect Cure,  
For her grief increased more,  
More than e'er it did before:  
And sick she was, but pray for what,  
Oh! for something Dick had got,   

One Day when Dick was very jol'y,  
and as he was driving Blow;  
Then he spied her melancholy,  
ah! says Dick, how do you now.  
Ah! quoth she, I'm very sick,  
very sick, very sick;  
O, what shall I do, my Dick,  
I am very, very sick,  
Sick, says Dick, I pray for what,  
O, for something you have got.   

And Dick, 'tis you can only Cure me,  
prithee do't before you go;  
Good now Richard, pray assure me,  
whether you will, aye or no:  
My dear Richard, don't deny,  
neither from your promise fly;  
For my grief is malady,  
You can Cure immediately;  
Then pray now Richard, give me that  
I need not name it, you know what,   

Prithee Betty how should I know,  
what the thing is that you mean;  
Then she sighed, and cried Hithe,  
such a Fool was never seen:  
I must languish here and die,  
here and die, here and die;  
And can't have a Remedy,  
For my grievous malady;  
Was ever there so dull a Sot,  
That knows not yet what he has got,   

When they had understood each other,  
Dick for joy did leave his Blow;  
Gave his Whip unto his Brother,  
and he Swore he'd Cure her now.  
Then unto her strait he goes,  
and his skill to her he shows;  
Brisk and blithe she then became,  
As any one upon the Plain:  
Now Maids you see what Dick can do,  
then try if he can Cure you too,   
FINIS   

Printed for C. Lennisson, at the Stationers-Arms within Aldgate.