Two sailors outwitted, or, Eggs and bacon/Two Sailors Outwitted

TWO SAILORS OUTWITTED.

All you that sail the foaming ocean,
⁠listen a while and you shall hear,
And I will tell you of a portion,
⁠fell to one that sail’d the sea
In Herriot’s fields two sailors walking,
⁠their pockets being well lin’d with gold;
And as they were together talking,
⁠a woman there they did behold,

With her lap tuck’d up, and a big basket,
⁠and the poor woman for to ease,
To carry her basket, one of them asked,
⁠her answer was, Sir if you please.

But, O kind Sir, I do not know you,
⁠my basket’s full of eggs, take care,
And if chance be, you do out-go me,
⁠at half-way-house pray leave them there.

But this poor woman to bite the biter,
⁠at half-way-house they passed by,
To see them fond the stept the lighter,
⁠but still upon them she kept an eye.

When these two sailors came to quarters,
⁠they thought they’d left her in the fields,
But oh! alake! they were all mistaken,
⁠for she was close in at their heels.

They called for a pint of porter,
⁠she heard them laugh at what was done,
Oh! such fools as are in the world,
⁠on her we’ve put some clever fun.

O laud, Olaud, bring's here some bacon,
⁠here’seggsenough we’ll havesomedrest,
But these two sailors were sadly mistaken,
⁠as you shall see before we’ve done.

Then pulling up the basket nimbly,
⁠thinking for to divide the spoil,
But, Oh! alake! they were all mistaken,
⁠instead of eggs they’d got a child.

The landlord cries, instead or feasting
⁠on eggs and bacon, boys, you see,
Out for a nurse you must be looking,
⁠for by this woman fool’d you be.

One said by me this woman was pity'd,
⁠all for to ease her of her pain;
But, Oh! alake! I am all outwitted,
⁠I’ve got a bastard to maintain.

Here’s 500 pounds of good red guineas,
⁠who will take this child trom me;
Tell down, tell down, said she the money,
⁠and I will do that fame for thee.

Witnesses being to prove the action,
⁠I think said she I may be free,
To tell the truth for satisfaction,
⁠the father of this child you be.

What the duce, said he, are you that Nancy
⁠with whom I danc’d, and did betray?
O yes, said she, and for a fancy,
⁠I think you did the fidler pay.

But indeed I think it very artful,
⁠much love & kindness have been shown,
Oh then the sailor did commend her,
⁠and swore the money was her own.

He took the child and this he swore,
⁠a child in that who would have thought,
I never shall have eggs no more,
⁠so farewel all—I bid good-night.