“ I long to be a bride,
To have a lusty young man to ly by any side;
For it is well know, I am a woman grown,
And 'tis a pity one so pretty as I should ly alone.
⁠O daughter I was fifteen before that I was wed,
And I was ne'er tired of my sweet maidenhead.
O mammy that may be, but 'tis not so with me,
I'm young and airy, almost weary, I can't ly alone.
⁠O daughter, daughter, I'll pull your courage down,
And with hard labour pull off your sack & gown,
And send you each day to the fields a making hay,
O daughter, loving daughter, then perhaps you may. ”

“ I'm wounded by a young man that's gone to fight the French.
⁠His lips are like the coral, his cheeks like the rose,
His skin is like the lilly, his eyes are black as floes,
He's proper, tall and handsome in every degree,
He has cross'd the wide ocean to face his enemy. ”

“ Some picking of pockets, and usurers cheating,
Pawnbrokers and Jews are a filching and stealing,
Some whores in their cellars their fates bewailing,
By means of the fire they carry in their tail;
From Wapping, Denmark street, the Banks of Saltpetre
Each flash doth repair to screen from the weather,
Where knave, thief, & whore do all cling together,
Seronading the humours of Rosemary Lane. ”