Lyrics

Tune: The Carman’s Whistle
Enter Moll Medlar carrying a basket
Mol: Soldiers fight and Hectors rant on
Whilst poor wenches go to rack
Who would be a wicked wanton
Onley for suppers, songs and sack?
To endure the alteration
Of these times that are so dead,
Thus to lead a long vacation
Without money, beer and bread.
Farewell Bloomsbury and Sodom,
Lukeners Lane and Turnbull Street [well-known London hangouts for whores]
Woe was me when I first trod ’em
With my wilde unwary feet.
I was born a Gentlewoman,
But our family did fall
When the gentry’s coin grew common,
And the souldiers shar’d it all.
I was sure unto a Hector
Who hath basely broke his vow;
Would I had a good projector
That would well support me now. Enter Wat
Who comes here? What simple Thumkin,
Oh! I guess him by his coat,
This is sure some Countrey Bumkin
Now ’tis time to change my note.
Written by: Thomas Jordan
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