Page:Merry piper, or, The popish fryar & boy.pdf/11

 'He was not able to forbear,
 * 'but danc'd the bush about;

'His hands and eyes the brier tore,
 * 'and scratch'd him by the snout.

'A woeful pickle he was in,
 * 'with dancing through and through;

'His cloaths is tore, and then his skin,
 * 'his privy members too

'Run down with streams of purple gore,
 * 'his bum did likewise bleed;

'All over him he was as sore,
 * 'as if he had been dead.

'The fryar skip'd and caper'd high,
 * 'while Jack he laughing stands,

'The fryar then aloud did cry,
 * 'and held up both his hands.

'Sweet gentle John some pity take,
 * 'and lay your piping by;

'Even for dear St. Francis's sake,
 * 'let me not dancing die.

'Qouth he I'll not wrong you, no,
 * 'if thou wilt set me free:

'O then said Jack, I'll let thee go,
 * 'pray come no more to me.

'Out of the bush the fryar came,
 * 'all in a tattered trim;

'With a tore shirt and bloody bones,
 * 'no bedlam like to him.

'Some people did before him flee,
 * 'some pelted him with stones:

'For most of them took him to be
 * 'raw head and bloody bones.

'Then home he went with scarce a rag,
 * 'to hide his naked back,

'Thus he had little cause to brag,
 * 'how he had crippled Jack.

'The step mother fretted at heart,
 * 'to see him in that case,