Classic Poem

A Fryar was walking in Exeter-street
Drest up in his Garb like a Gentleman neat;
He there with a wanton young Lady did meet
And freely did offer and earnestly proffer
to give her a Bottle of Wine.

Love, let us not stand to Discourse in the Cold,
My amorous Jewel I prithee behold;
Then straight he pull'd out a whole handful of Gold
And said, My dear honey, here 's plenty of Money;
I'll give thee a Guinny or two.

The glittering Guinnies soon dazel'd her eyes,
That privately straight she began to devise
By what means she might get this rich Golden prize:
Two is but a trifle, his pockets I'll rifle;
I [hope] to have all now or none.

She seemingly Bashful, disputing did stand
And said, I dare not to the Tavern with Man;
But this was to bring him more eagerly on
So that the Old Fryar did burn with desire
and she to his humour did yield.

Away to the Tavern they went in all haste,
A glass of Canary resolving to taste,
And there the Old Fryar he freely Embrac'd
This Lady of pleasure; she aim'd at his Treasure
which constantly run in her mind.

The Drawer supply'd them with Liquor good store,
And when all was out still they called for more;
Her Amorous Charms he did dearly adore,
And as they sat drinking she paid it with thinking
how she might his Guinnies obtain.

The Fryar to Court her he thus did begin:
Sweet Madam, step out of these Robes you are in,
That I may behold thy white delicate Skin
The which will inflame me; sweet creature, don't blame me,
I'll give you three Guinnies the more.

This Lady of pleasure, she thus did reply:
That Civil Request, Sir, I will not deny
If that you'll strip Naked now as well as I.
To which he consented; both being contented
they scamper'd a while round the Room.

While naked they danc'd at this Frolicksome rate
His Wigg did flye off, and she see his bald Pate;
I have an Old Fryar, thought she, for my Mate;
I' faith I will fit him, if that I can get him
to change his Apparel with me.

Then straight with a Smile to the Fryar she goes,
And said, Worthy Sir, here 's one thing I propose;
Let us in this Frolick now change our Cloaths.
He grants her desire, they change their Attire,
she like a Town-Bully appear'd.

The Fryar immediately sets himself down,
He puts on her Smicket, her Top-Knot and Gown,
And look'd like a Hag-ridden Bawd of the Town
In Ribbons and Laces; but she had her Paces
and fitted the Fryar at last.

His Cloaths with his Watch and his Guinnies she got,
Then made an excuse to go down to the Vault;
Yet ne'r came again, but left him all the Shot
To pay without Money; his Amorous Honey
did leave the Old Rogue in the Lurch.

He found she had left him the Dog for to hold;
Then calling the Drawer his Grief to unfold,
He had not a penny of Silver nor Gold;
Then counting his Losses, his Beads and his Crosses,
he ne'r was so Riffl'd before.

The Drawer he told him the Shot must be pay'd;
The Fryar stood quaking, but little he said;
They stript off the Gown in which he was array'd,
His Ribbons and Laces; he made sower Faces
to see his most desperate Doom.

They found that he was of the Jesuit breed,
And one that had been a great Rascal indeed;
Now therefore they sent him to Newgate with speed.
A woful Disaster, he says Pater-Noster
but has neither Money nor Cloaths.