The High-way man’s Song.

I keep my Horse, I keep my Whore,

I take no Rents, yet am not poore,

I traverse all the land about,

And yet was born to never a foot;

With Partridge plump, and Woodcock fine,

I do at mid-night often dine;

And if my whore be not in case,

My Hostess daughter has her place.

The maids sit up, and watch their turnes,