With's Wife upon a single Horse, T'wards _Eppin_ both rid out together; But what than ill Luck can be worse, A High-way-Man of equal Force, Alass, obstructed both their Pleasure. With Pistol cock'd he made demand, And told them he must have their Money; The Major wisely would not stand, Nor on his Pistols clap a Hand, He was not such a Fighting Tony. But spur'd away as swift as Wind, No Elk or Tyger could run faster; Was ever Man so stout and kind, To leave his frighted Wife behind, Expos'd to such a sad Disaster. Her Necklace, Cloaths and Diamond Ring, The greedy Robber quickly fell to; One Petticoat he let her bring Away with Smock, and t'other Thing, To let her noble Heroe smell to. This Slight bred sad domestick Strife, Altho' the Man's to be commended; For what's a loving handsome Wife, To a Man's Money or his Life, For all is lost when that is ended. _A_ SONG. [Music] As the Fryer he went along, and a poring in his Book, At last he spy'd a Jolly brown Wench a washing of her Buck, Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_. The Fryer he pull'd out and a Jolly brown T----d as much as he could handle, Fair Maid, quoth he, if thou earnest Fire in thy A---- come light me this same Candle. Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c. The Maid she sh---- and a Jolly brown T---- out of her Jolly brown Hole, Good Sir, quoth she, if you will a Candle light come blow me this same Cole. Sing, _Stow the Fryer_, &c. Part of the Sparks flew into the _North_, and part into the _South_, And part of this jolly brown T---- flew into the Fryer's Mouth. Sing, _Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer_ _Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go_. _The Lass of_ LYNN'S _sorrowful Lamentation for the Loss of her Maiden-Head._ [Music] I am a young Lass of _Lynn_, Who often said thank you too; My Belly's now almost to my Chin, _I cannot tell what to do_. My being so free and kind, Does make my Heart to rue; The sad Effects of this I find, _And cannot tell what to do_. My Petticoats which I wore, And likewise my Aprons too; Alass, they are all too short before, _I cannot_, &c. Was ever young Maid so crost, As I who thank'd him too: For why, my Maiden-head is lost, _I cannot tell what to do_. In sorrowful sort I cry'd, And may now for ever rue; The Pain lies in my Back and Side, _I cannot tell what to do_. Alass I was kind and mild, But now the same I rue; Having no Father for my Child, _I cannot_, &c. I took but a Touch in jest, Believe me this is true; Yet I have proved, I protest, _And cannot_, &c. He crav'd my Virginity, And gave me his own in lieu; In this I find I was too kind, _And cannot_, &c. Each Damsel will me degrade, And so will the young Men too; I'm neither Widow, Wife, nor Maid, _I cannot_, &c. A Cradle I must provide, A Chair and Posset too; Nay, likewise twenty Things beside, _I cannot_, &c.