A Crafty young Bumpkin that was very rich,
And used with his Bargains to go thro’ stitch,
Did tender a Sum, but it would not avail,
That I should admit him my Tenant in tail.
My Thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still,
Yet other young Lasses may do what they will.
A fine dapper Taylor, with a Yard in his Hand,
Did proffer his Service to be at Command,
He talked of a slit I had above Knee,
But I’ll have no Tailors to stitch it for me.
My Thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still,
Yet other young Lasses may do what they will.
A Gentleman that did talk much of his Grounds,
His Horses, his Setting-Dogs, and his Grey-hounds,
Put in for a Course, and used all his Art,
But he mist of the Sport, for Puss would not start.
My Thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still,
Yet other young Lasses may do what they will.
A pretty young Squire new come to the Town,
To empty his Pockets, and so to go down,
Did proffer a kindness, but I would have none,
Of the thing that he used on his Mother’s Maid Joan.
My Thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still,
Yet other young Lasses may do what they will.
Now here I could reckon a hundred and more,
Besides all the Gamesters recited before,
That made their addresses in hopes of a snap
But as young as I was, I understood a trap.
My thing is my own, and I’ll keep it so still,
Until I be Married, say Men what they will.