The Maltster caught in a Trap Or, The Witty Alewife.  
This Alewife she was run upon the Maltster's score  
Full Twenty-pounds for Malt, I think, and more:  
But he desired a bit of Venus' Game,  
And I think he paid full dearly for the same:  
He made a Discharge I say for once,  
And glad he was that he could save his Stones:  
He was lamfateed till his bones were sore;  
He has made a vow he'll ne'er come there no more;  
The Ale-wifes' Husband did so belabour him,  
That made him stink and piss for very shame.  
Tune is, What should a young woman do with an old man: Or, Digbys Farewell.  
 
 
 

I Pray you draw near and attend now a while;  
Here's a pretty new Ditty will make you to smile;  
The truth of the business you need not to fear  
Of a notable jest was done in Harfordshire:  
A lusty brave Maltman in that Country did dwell  
That loved a fair woman, many people can tell;  
But if you'll be pleased to attend here and mind,  
He was fitted very finely and served in his kind.   

A dainty brave Ale wife that lived him near,  
That bought her Malt of him to brew her strong Beer,  
For he was kind hearted, and loving, and free,  
But she paid him in's ear, as you plainly shall see:  
She was run Twenty pounds for Malt on the score,  
But he aimed a Barrel of Beer for to boar;  
But he was deceived, he was caught in a snare,  
She was too cunning for him now I do swear.   

One day he did chance to look for some money,  
But for fear he should fail he desired some Coney;  
The Alewife was beautiful and very fair,  
And the Maltman his senses was all on a fire  
With seeing sweet Babies in the Ale-wife's eyes,  
That Cupid had struck him with a lustful surprise;  
He put forth a question, and did her salute;  
She answered him honestly with a civil dispute:   

For all you're my Maltman your suit's all in vain,  
I'll ne'er wrong my Conscience my Credit to slain,  
That I should defile my own Husband's Bed,  
To be such a Whore to set Horns on his Head.  
Thou needs not to fear, that will be no disgrace,  
There will be no body near us in this place.  
She hearing him eager, and so earnestly bend,  
Thought she, I will fit him, i'll his purpose prevent.   

And now she contrives an invention I swear,  
To pay him the money, and trap him in a snare  
And tells him if he will but stay till next day  
He should have his desire to sport and to play:  
My Husband to morrow he will be from home,  
And then Sir again (if you please) you may come;  
And rest yourself satisfied, and be content,  
Keep every thing close, and all dangers prevent.   

Then the Maltster was pleased in the story we find,  
He was sweetly contented, it pleased his mind:  
He said, i'll be a good friend if thou be to me true;  
But she was an honest woman I tell unto you:  
Then she to her Husband did tell all her mind,  
Be ruled by me, and we'll fit him in's kind:  
And so then the Alewife laid for him a snare,  
To make her husband acquainted it was all her care.   

Then this Plot was contrived with her husband's consent  
To pay off the Maltster & give him content:  
Next day than this Maltster did come to this Dame,  
But he was well rewarded I think for the same:  
Her Husband was in ambush, and she on the bed,  
And the Maltster fell to embracing & nothing did dread  
But before he could his work then begin,  
Her husband immediately fell upon him.   

What sirrah, do you mean to make a whore of my wife?  
Must I be a Cuckold all the days of my life?  
And with a good Cudgel he banged his bones,  
And made him believe he would cut out his stones;  
So by head and by ears he pulled him o' th' Floor,  
That the Maltster bepissed him; he loudly did roar,  
All the money you owe me i'll freely forgive,  
If you'll save my Life and let me now live.   

No sirrah, i'll Geld you and put you to sorrow,  
You had enough of your own, you need not to borrow:  
O than he did beg on his knees very sore,  
If you'll forgive me i'll do so no more.  
O now faith the Ale-man i'll do it for once,  
Your pitiful begging hath saved your stones;  
You say you will quit me all scores very large,  
Then take Pen and Paper and write a discharge.   

The thing it was done and they quitted the score,  
And he turned the Maltster out of the door,  
And gave him a charge he should come no more there,  
And take for a warning or he shall pay for it dear.  
He went sneaking away, and was sorely decoyed,  
And paid for the thing that he never enjoyed:  
And now I intent to let my Pen rest,  
E●ry man with's own wife, I think that the best.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the ball in Py-Corner.