A Pleasant New BALLAD: Being a merry Discourse between a Country Lass & a young Tailor: SHOWING  
How the Tailor lost his plight and pleasure  
His Yard not being, by the Standard, Measure.  
To a pleasant New Tune, or Kester Crab.  
 
 

IN Harvest-time I walked  
hard by a Corn-Close side;  
I hearing people talk,  
A looked about, and spied   

A Young man and a maid,  
together they did lie;  
When you hear it told,  
you'll laugh full heartily.   

She was as buxom a Lass  
as any in our Town;  
She will not let you pass,  
but she'll call you, to sit down.   

A Tailor passing by,  
she hit him on the heel,  
You are very welcome Sir,  
to sit you down and feel.   

What money's in my Purse,  
at your command shall be,  
If you will go along  
to Marson wake with me.   

He hearing her say so,  
and seeing her to smile,  
Was charmed with her, so  
he sat him down a while.   

And having groped her Purse,  
and taken all her money,  
He groped again, and mist,  
and caught her by the Coney.   

Where am I now? (quoth he)  
another I have found,  
It's not the same, quoth he,  
for this is tufted round.   

If it be tufted round, quoth she,  
there is good reason for't,  
There is such treasure lies,  
will make a Tailor sport.   
 
 

He hearing her say so,  
being a frolicsome Lad,  
Was willing for to know  
more of the fringed bag.   

With that he eagerly  
to feel put forth his hand;  
Nay, hold good Sir, said she,  
go not before you stand:   

Except you take your Yard,  
the depth of it to measure,  
You'll find the Purse so deep,  
you'll hardly come to th' treasure.   

He hearing her say so,  
it put him to a stand;  
She seeing him dismayed,  
she took his Yard in hand:   

Is this your Yard, quoth she,  
is this your Tailor's measure?  
It is too short for me,  
it is not Standard-Measure.   

The Tailor being abashed,  
she told him that it was  
More fitter for a man,  
than such a penny Ass.   

She bids him now be gone,  
since he could make no sport,  
And said, thou art too dull  
to enter such a fort.   

She looking fiercely at him,  
she said, thou sneaking fool,  
Go strait away to Vulcan,  
and let him mend thy tool:   

And tell him that Dame Venus  
at him is almost mad,  
For sending to her School  
such an unfit Lad.   

You Tailors that attempt  
fringed bags to measure,  
Be sure your Yards be sealed,  
and full Standard-Measure.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Westsmi●●…field.