And then I began to tell her my case:
Whither walk’st thou, my pretty sweet soul?
She modestly answer’d to Hockley-i’th’-hole.
I ask’d her her business; she had a red cheek,
She told me, she went a poor service to seek;
I said, it was pitty she should leave the City,
And settle her self in a Country Town;
She said it was certain it was her hard fortune
To go up a maiden, and so to come down.
With that I alighted, and to her I stept,