You be prety wench a Metrel, par ma Foy,
Dear me do love you, be not so coy;
Yet still replyed, Geod Sir, la be;
If ever I have a man, blew Cap for me.
An Irishman, with a long skeen in his Hose,
Did think to obtain her, it was no great matter,
Up stairs to the chamber so lightly he goes,
That she never heard him until he came at her,
Quoth he, I do love thee, by Fait and by Trot,
And if thou wilt know it, experience shall sho’t,