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Lik wife my belly is fo pain’d it’s like to be my dead, Her mother wrung her hands, and it is but a weed. How fhe loft her maiden head, when, fhe was fast afleep, For fhe was a maiden, and then fhe was a mother, She wou'd not meet with this miftake, If fhe had kept her legs together.

The Dublin Baker.

IN Reformation I was bred and born’ In Stephen’s green I died in fcorn; In Dublin I learn’d the baking trade. Where I was called a fweet roving blade. I took to me a handfome wife. L lov’d her dear as I did my life, And to maintain her fine and gay, if all the world for it fhould pay. I went to London both brifk and gay, pending my time amongft balls & plays Until my cafh it did grow low, to the highways I was forc’d to go. I often-times used to refort, On Hounflow heath and St. James’s park Where I robb’d lords and ladies bright. five hundred pounds I got that night. I robb’d lords Mornington I do declare and Lady Napton in morning fquare,