Relating how the Parson of S———b finding long George in his Shirt under his favourite Maid's Bed, beat him, and turn'd him home without his Cloaths.
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IN Kent I hear, there lately did dwell
Long George, a Yeoman by trade,
Plump, lively and young, brisk, jolly and strong,
Who fugell'd the Parson's fine Maid,
And her Ruffdom, Ruffdom, frizledom Madg,
Her Hey Rump, frizlerump de,
Rowze about, towze about, seek all the House about,
Under the Bed was he
It once fell out, a Moon-shiny Night,
It seems his Passion did move,
He thought fit to wooe her, and do something to her,
So great was the Power of his Love,
To her Ruffdom, &c.
At Window then he softly did call,
Sweet Amber Mary pray rise,
Since May-day our dancing, Love has been advancing,
And thou art my beautiful Prize;
With thy Ruffdom, &c.
Fye George, she crys, these Words are but Toys,
My Master sleeps in his Bed,
The Door it is lock'd, and I'm in my Smock,
Be gone, there's no more to be said
To my Ruffdom, &c.
