Each hour for thy welfare to God will I pray, That He will in safety preserve My own dearest lover by night and by day Whilst he on the ocean doth serve. This token, I prethee, love, for my sake keep, Remember me when you it wear; This parting kiss take, which doth cause me to weep, And so heavens bless mine own dear. MAN. Adieu, my dear jewel: thy love I have found; Our parting doth grieve me full sore. The drums they do beat, and the trumpets do sound, And I must stay no longer on shore. _THE MAIDENS FROLICK; OR, A BRIEF RELATION HOW SIX LUSTY LASSES HAS PREST FULL FOURTEEN TAYLORS ON THE BACKSIDE OF ST. CLEMENTS, AND THE OTHER ADJACENT PLACES._ To the Tune of _An Orange_. Of late near the Strand, we well understand, Six lasses that took a brisk frollick in hand; ’Twas thus, I profess, they in seaman’s dress, Not far from the May-pole, resolved to press _Fourteen taylors_. Young Nancy she ty’d a sword by her side, And she was resolved for to be their guide: This young female crew, Kate, Bridget, and Prue, And she that went formost was Lieutenant Sue, _Pressing taylors_. These maids by consent, their minds fully bent, First thro’ the back side of St. Clements they went, Where just in the street they a taylor did meet; They prest him, and streight he fell down at their feet: ‘_I’m a taylor_. ‘I tell you,’ said he, ‘I ne’er was at sea, And therefore, kind gentlemen, pray set me free, And pity these tears; I have liv’d forty years, And never us’d weapon but bodkin and shears. _I’m a taylor._’ But Susan and they strait haul’d him away, While Tom, the poor taylor, did sigh, beg, and pray; Yet all was in vain, for they did him retain, And told him that now he must fight on the main, _Tho’ a taylor_. Then to White Hart Yard they went with regard, And there a poor taylor was labouring hard Upon his shop-board. Nan drew out her sword, Saying he must King William his service afford, _Tho’ a taylor_. The taylor did quake--nay, quiver and shake. At length with a pitiful voice he did spake, While tears down did run; he cry’d, ‘I’m undone. I never did know the right end of a gun; _I’m a taylor_.’ Then stout Boston Bess said, ‘Nevertheless You must go with us, we’ve a warrant to press; Then wave this excuse, and lay by your goose; Such nimble young fellows may be of great use, _Tho’ only a taylor_.’ And then, by report, they went to Round Court, Where seven young taylors were making of sp[ort], Their hearts void of care, who when they come the[re], These maids did catch napping, as Moss catch’d [his] ma[re], _Seven taylors_.