Tune - "Vicar of Bray."

Near Jermyn Street a bawd did trade
In credit, style and splendour,
Well known to every high-bred blade,
And those of doubtful gender.

How nature once, in marring mood,
Her body formed, I'll tell ye,
Upon her back a swelling stood,
To mock her barren belly.

CHORUS:

For some succeed and others fail
That into commerce enter.
So few are chaste and many frail
In this great trading center.

In coney skins her commerce lay,
A charming stock she'd laid in;
She ne'er to smugglers fell a prey,
Her practice was fair trading.

These skins when dressed were red and white,
The fur of each fair creature,
Of different hues, as day and night,
Kept warm man's naked nature.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.

The trading stock of this old bawd
A vital stab sustain'd, sir,
The news like wild-fire flew abroad,
Each customer complairid, sir.

Some coney skins lay with a lot
By caution uninspected;
So quarantine, alas, forgot,
Foul plague the whole infected.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.

Now old and young her shop forsook,
Insolvent was her plight, sir,
When Habeas Corpus catch-pole took
Her body off by night, sir,

From Banco regis civil law,
To liquidate her debt, sir,
Between the sheets this old bawd saw
Of London's fam'd Gazette, sir.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.

To give each creditor his due,
Three men, the Lord's anointed,
Jack Wilkes, Lord Sandwich and Old Q
Were assignees appointed;

But luckless bawd! the after day
Her stock on fire they found, sir;
So 'twas agreed she could not pay
A condom in the pound, sir.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.

The skin (her own) this bawd had left,
Each assignee did handle;
'Twas found of all its fur bereft,
By singeing flame of candle;

Same butter'd buns concealed within,
Old Q's keen eye beset, sir;
So Wilkes defin'd this coney skin
A fund for floating debt, sir.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.

By headlong lust her claimants led,
They seized her mortal treasure;
The furious coney skin was spread,
A dividend past measure.

No wall came in, not one stood out;
The bawd was set at large, sir;
Her coney skin (of worth, no doubt),
Did every man discharge, sir.

Chorus: For some succeed, etc.