The Cheaters Cheated: VI. Stingo – Half Hanekin

Tune: Stingo / Half Hanekin

She singeth and danceth

Moll: I can dance and I can sing,

And I am good at either,

And I can do the tother thing

When we get together.

I have lately lost my dear,

’Twas a holy Brother

If he do not meet me here,

I faith, I’le get another.

I can nimbly come above,

I can tumble under

And if I do but like my love …

Wat: What vary’s [‘fairy’/prostitute] that is yonder?

’Tis a dainty dancing girle,

Zhee would make me gladder,

Her vace doth zyne like mother-of-pearl,

Chould chuse no more, and chad [catch, as in ‘chadder’, a fisherman] her.

Moll: A Dutchman loves his pipe and can,

A Jew doth like a Turk well,

But I could hug a Countrey-man,

For he will do his work well

Citizens are full of slight,

They will cog and flatter,

But a Countrey man will do me right—

Wat: Che long now to be at her!

Good morrow Mistris Trip-and-goe

Moll: My Countrey-man, I take it—

I love you, sir, Wat: Chill love thee too,

And vayth, chil veze [‘rub’ her jacket, ie, ‘feel her up’] thy jacket;

Moll: What’s thy name? Come tell me that

Thou shalt be my jewel—

Wat: Why zom, vorzooth, do call me Wat—

But my neame is Water-Gruel

Prithe zay, and ben’t avrayd,

Art thou not a pedlar?

Moll: I live close by in Tickle Yard,

My name is Mary Medlar [whore, from anus-shaped fruit, best when rotten].

Wat: Then, zweet Mol, come buss [kiss] thy Wat

Let us twain be merry,

Moll: I could nimbly dance, but that

My basket makes me weary.

Wat: Give it me, chill dance a Spring

Che have no veaver lurden [laziness: Henry VIII’s physician wrote of the ‘Fever Lurden which doth comber yonge persons’]

Moll: If thou wilt dance, then I will sing

And thou shalt bear the burden. He takes her basket. Both dance

Wat: A match, a match, it’s well a vine,

We both zhall make some ztuff on’t!

Moll: Unless thy feet keep pace with mine

Thoul’t quickly have ynough on’t!

Wat: Well don Moll, Moll: ’tis well done Wat,

Wat: Chill do it to a tittle,

Moll: But I have too much strain’d my throat,

I prethe sing a little

Wat: Fa la la la liera lo!

This is pretty prancing!

We will go to Tickle Yard

When we have done dancing—

Moll dances off

Now che think ch’av vetcht it up, [Wat is evidently ready for action!]

Zing a little Mary,

We will gulge a merry zup

Zhuggar and canary [strong wine from Canary Isles];

But thou dost dance and make no noise,

Zhall I turn and kiss thee?

Prethe let me hear thy voice …

Where the devil is she?

Zhe hath left me all alone

Here to mum and mask it,

But, yvaith, if zhe be gon,

Ich chill keep her basket.

Here’s good vortune come to me

In a merry minute,

Now chill puttne down and zee

What zhee have gotten in it.

He opens the basket, revealing the baby