You'l never get her up, Or, Love in a Tree.
Being a Pleasant new Song, shewing how a Maid was got with Child, without lying with a Man.
To the Tune of Buggering Oats prepare thy Neck.
A Week ago as I did walk
When it was almost twilight
Near to the Cage in St. Jameses Park,
Appeared to my ey-sight,
I their espy'd a Souldier gay,
That was both brisk and airy,
But could not tell by any way
What might his business there be.
When I came nearer I perceiv'd
He had a Wench before him
He shuv'd her up against a Tree
As if that he was boring:
I staid a while and laugh'd at
For I had got a cup Sir,
And cry'd pray turn her Face about
Or you'l nere get her up Sir.
The Souldier then replyed to me,
Is it so strange an Object
To see a Souldier at his Post
Beget the King a Subject,
He handled then his Arms so well,
And called me incompoop too:
And said i'le neither turn her round,
Nor strive to get her up joe.
With that his match he bravely cock'd
Presented and gave Fire,
She opened to the right and left
Disdaining to retire,
The Bullets they did fly about
And boldly he did venter,
He with consent of both the sides
The Sally Port did enter.
At every motion of his Breast
The Bandeleirs did rattle,
And every toss went too and fro
Did represent a Battle,
The Bird-Cage it was hard at hand
And every Bird did chatter,
The Crane, the Vulture and the Crow
Cry'd Souldier now have at her.
The Soldier he did win the Field
His Sword he so well handed,
He had much ado to make her yield
That he should be disbanded,
And now the loving Combats o're
No longer she could tarry,
And she went off with all the Spoil
I wish her nere miscarry.
But in short time this handsome Maid
Her Belly swell'd up higher
And she did seriously affirm
No Man lay, with or by her,
Therefore the neighbours all conclude
Some wanton Fellow by night
Had stol'n away her Maiden-head
When she did sleep at twilight.
Her Mistress sometimes call'd her Whore,
And said she'd not believe her,
The skilful Doctors all conclude
A Tympany did grieve her,
But then she Soldier came again
To have the other round bout
By what he speak in merry mood
The Riddle all was found out.
The Maid brought forth a pretty Youth
As ever eye did see joy,
And all the Neighbours there in truth
Call it the Green-wood Tree Boy,
You Maidens that are kind and free
Walk to the Park by twilight.
And take a Touch oth Green-wood Tree
'Tis good to clear your eyesight.
Let this to youngmen warning be
For they do often wild goe.
How they help Maids to climb the Tree,
For fear they do with Child go
Though you ith Gravey Gap will play
And take thereof a sup Sir,
Yet turn her Face the other way
Or you'l nere get her up Sir.
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner.