THE Jovial Maypole Dancers:  
OR The Merry Morris.  
The Tune is, Top and top-gallant, etc.  
 
 

ROwland and Roger,  
with Bridget and Mary,  
William and Robert,  
with Susan and Sarah:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance and skip it,  
The Baggipes they roar,  
and the Youngsters they trip it.    

Bridget she simpered,  
and Rowland he kissed her,  
And Susan she laughed,  
till she almost bepissed her:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance and skip it,  
The Baggpipes, etc.    

Bridget had Roger,  
fast hold by the Jacket,  
And Roger had Bridget  
as fast by the Placket:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance, etc.    

Susan she clasped  
her William byth' middle,  
And William he all to beclawed  
her Bumfiddle:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance and they skip it,  
The Baggpipes they roar,  
and the Youngsters they trip it.    
 
 
 

Roger told Mary,  
that she was his Honey,  
And swore his Chaps watered,  
for her Troninony:  

And round round the May Pole,  
they dance, etc.    

Marry she simpered,  
at Roger's Relation,  
And Roger perceived  
that she pitied his passion:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance, &c    

Robert and Sarah  
did foot it so featly,  
That all the Beholders,  
did swear they danced neatly:  

And round round the Maypole,  
they dance, &c    

The Dancers they sweat,  
and the Piper was weary,  
They threw him a Groat,  
and away they did hurry:  
Then at the next Alehouse,  
with Cake and stewed Pruin  
They treated their Women  
and fell to their Wooing.   

Then with choice Songs,  
of the Oldest Collections,  
They Wriggled themselves,  
in their Lady's affections:  
They sung and they roared,  
till the Landlord did swear,  
Their Charms were so strong,  
they would turn all his Beer   

Ale and stewed Prunes,  
and Plum-Cake together,  
Now some say Tobacco,  
but I know not whether;  
The Women were sick,  
the Reckoning disputing,  
The Men fell to fight,  
the Women to Muting.   

In the midst of this hurry,  
appears a long Pole,  
And a greasy old Victualler,  
a Man of Control;  
Who commanded the Peace,  
and to part and not grumble  
Each Lad took his Lass,  
and so home they did tumble.    

Printed for I. Deacon, at the Angel in Guiltspur-street.