The Hackney Damsels PASTIME, OR, A Summer Evening FROLIC.  
To a pleasant new Tune, much in Request.  

This may be Printed,  
R.P.   
 

[1]  
ONE Evening, in hot weather,  
I through a Grove did pass,  
And saw two Maids together,  
sit sporting on the grass:  
I stood a while and eyed them,  
They little thought who spied them.  
Whilst they were imitating  
What I'll forbear relating.   

[2]  
When their Pastime was over,  
I gently trod the green,  
To surprise them and discover,  
that their Frolic I had seen:  
The one more nimble sighted  
She run as if she was frighted;  
The other not surmizing,  
I caught her just a Rising.   

[3]  
And down again I plucked her,  
whilst she cried fie upon't;  
And quickly did instruct her  
In what young Maidens want.  
The other at a distance,  
Came not to her assistance;  
But stamping, stood and said,  
Ah Moll, you're a wicked Jade.   

[4]  
You foolish Girl, come hither  
And do as I have done;  
I'm sure that you had rathes  
be kissed, than let alone:  
He hath gotten in his Breeches  
For Maids, a bag of Riches,  
Which when you've in possession,  
You'll think it no transgression.   

[5]  
With that the Wench drew nigher,  
and I to meet her run;  
Whose heart was set on fire  
with standing to look on.  
I on the grass did throw her,  
And soon began to show her,  
The pleasing toil of Nature,  
That's loved by every Creature.   

[6]  
She every moment kissed me,  
and clasped me in her Arms;  
And cried, ye powers assist me,  
to exercise new Charms,  
Whilst we our Joys were sharing,  
The other she sat staring;  
Which put me in mind to think on,  
How the Devil looked o'er Lincoln.   

[7]  
When our delights were over  
she blushing to me cried,  
Good Sir, do not discover  
what freedoms you've enjoyed,  
For when my Mistress knows it,  
She'll take me to her Closet,  
And beats me in her Anger  
For kissing with a stranger.   

[8]  
I all assurance gave her,  
I'd keep it in my breast;  
She asked me if I'd have her,  
I answered yes in Jest:  
The other in a fury:  
Cried, Oh you idle Whore you,  
He's a Man that I have right in,  
And so they fell to fight.    

Printed for Charles Bates at the White-Hart in West-smithfield.