Oxford-shire BETTY: Containing her Joaking Letter to TOM the TAYLOR, near Tower-Street; who she has fairly left in the Lurch, and married with a Parson.  
Tune of, I love you more and more each day.  
 

POor Tom the Tailor don't lament,  
because I now am married;  
To you this Letter I have sent,  
and tell you that I tarried,  
Too long for such a Knave as yond,  
who has no Sense or Breeding:  
I pray look on this Line or two,  
this Line or two,  
you'll find it worth your reading.   

I have in order here set down,  
your wonderful Expenses;  
Yet never let it crack your Crown,  
nor rob you of your senses:  
Do not like one distracted Muse,  
such Fools there are too many,  
Yet Sense and Wit you cannot lose,  
you cannot lose,  
because you ne'er had any.   

You courted me, I most confess,  
in famous London City;  
And when you made your first Address,  
it was exceeding Witty.  
I prithee Betty, what's a Clock?  
or some such fine Expression:  
This showed you had a swinging Stock,  
a swinging Stock  
of Wisdom and Discretion.   

I tell you Tom, I han't forgot,  
how you did vow you'd treat me;  
Yet I was forced to pay the Shot,  
when ever you did meet me:  
What Maypole Faces would you make,  
and sighing, cry, Dear Honey,  
Supply my wants for pity sake,  
for pity's sake,  
alas! I have no Mony.   

I'd strive to keep you from Disgrace,  
that you might not be slighted,  
When other Persons was in place,  
where we was both invited:  
I'd slip a Shilling in your hand,  
because of your Submission;  
For I full well did understand,  
did understand,  
a tailor's poor Condition.   

When I to Oxford-shire did go,  
where Pleasures I am reaping,  
That news I would not let you know,  
for fear you would fall a weeping:  
I did from London Town remove,  
according to Discretion,  
Because I knew I could not love,  
I could not love,  
a Man of your Profession.   

You are a pack of nasty Curs,  
in ev'ry long Vacation,  
You feed so much on Cucumbers,  
you'd poison half the Nation:  
And Gabbidge all the Year beside,  
of which you are no Failer,  
What Woman can lie by the side?  
lie by the side,  
of a Mechanic Taylor.   

My Husband is a Clergyman,  
of worthy Birth and Breeding;  
I wear my Topping, Lace, and Fan,  
and am on Daintys feeding:  
Thus do I lead a splended Life,  
continual Joys receiving;  
Then who would be a tailor's Wife?  
a tailor's Wife,  
whose Husbands live by Theiving.    

Printed for C. Bates, next the Crown Tavern, in West Smithfield.