The Ploughboy's Cock(ney)

The Story so Far, from the Bodleian broadside collection, Harding B 11(632)

I'll tell you a story of a Londoner of late,
Who roved in the country to seek for his mate.
He put in his pocket three hands full of gold,
With his sword by his side to make him look bold.

He rode till he came to fair Beverley town,
Where there he alighted and put up at the Crown.
A beautiful damsel appeared to his eye,
Which caused him to stay all night for to lie.

He says, my dearest jewel, if thou will be mine,
All the gold and the silver I have shall be thine.
O no, kind sir, now your passion do assuage,
For to toy with the plough boy I'm deeply engaged.

The plough boy standing by and hearing her say so,
O now, says the plough boy, I know what I know,
For she is the girl which ought for to be mine,
But if thou can but gain her then she shall be thine.

Come, come, you saucy fellow, what makes you for to prate?
Stand from under my weapons or I'll break your pate.
You're some country bumpkin sprung from the plough tail,
That never handled a weapon but a whip or a flail.

Come, come, my brave fellow. Let's go to yonder field.
We will never give it up until one of us yield,
So it never shall be said upon any hard pinch,
That the plough boy's afraid for to fight for a wench.

They fought for half an hour before the company could say,
Which of these heroes had won the day,
Till at length the young plough boy gave cockney such a fall,
Saying now mister cockney, you shall pay for all.

Here's my gold and my bags. It's all that I have.
I'll freely give it to you my life for to save,
But do not let me in this strange country die,
But O carry me to London and there let me lie.

The Story Continues, from my own perverted imagination

'Oh, I don't want your bags and I don't want your gold;
Since with my own sweetheart you have made so bold
I'll carry you to that haystack and there you shall lie--
There I'll have satisfaction, although you may die.'

'Oh I don't want your gold and I don't want your bags.'
The Ploughboy, as he spoke, tore Cockney's clothes to rags
Revealing his rump and his pizzler so small
'With your arse, Mister Cockney, you shall pay for all.'

That Cockney's small cocklet he gave a hard pinch,
Said laughing, 'Why, lad, you are almost a wench.'
Then he from his trousers drew out his ploughshare
And the size of that weapon would frighten a mare.

'How now, my London Cockney, why do these tears flow?'
And as he smiling said this, his groin it did grow.
'You ain't gained her cunt, but you'll soon get my cock.'
That organ that he spoke of was by now hard as rock.

The Cockney was bold and the Cockney was brave,
His sword had sent many a man to his grave,
But this jolly Ploughboy had a sword of his own
And he felt it against him, as rigid as a bone.

He felt that great length shoving into his loins,
The head of that cudgel put up at his coin.
Though many a bird flew away as he wailed,
To rein in a ploughboy in rut naught availed.

'You rode out from town with your nose in the air
And sneered all around from that dainty grey mare,
With your pockets of gold and your lily-white hide--
Now, legs up, my lad, and we'll see how you ride!'

The Cockney he ranted, he cursed and he growled
And at this young Ploughboy blue murder he howled
but no threats nor pleas could his passion assuage--
With his long-shafted weapon he ploughed that man-maid.

The Ploughboy ploughed swift, and the Ploughboy ploughed deep
He cockéd that Cockney like a shepherd his sheep
Though the Cockney, he shouted, 'I yield! I yield!'
He ploughed that fine fellow as he were a field.

And this fair young Ploughboy, this randy young buck,
With his cheeks flushing red in the heat of his fuck,
With his long curls so gold and his long arms so brown,
Made the Cockney lament that he ever left town.

For that country bumpkin, that lusty young male,
He knew how to handle his prick in a tail
That hard-fucking Ploughboy, he knew what he knew
And that poor hapless Cockney, he soon knew it too!

He shivered, he moaned, he bucked and he writhed,
He wriggled, he jiggled, he jumped and he jived,
He panted and foamed, as if parched with thirst
And although he screamed, it was he squirted first!

Then this bold young Ploughboy with earnestness spoke
(Though while he was talking he missed not a stroke)
And his voice as he stroked him was ardent and low;
The Cockney, he shook, like each word was a blow.

'That beautiful damsel, she shall by my bride
And all through my life she shall be by my side.
But you, my wee cocket, you shall be my strumpet
And I'll with my horn make you blow like a trumpet.'

And though these rough words had the Cockney enraged
Yet with Ploughboy's toy he was deeply engaged
'Ah yes, London jewel, you both shall be mine,
But my gold and silver shall only be thine.'

'You'll guzzle my piss and swallow my spend
And all of my troubles I'll take out on your end.
If my darling grieves me, her beating you'll take
And if I must thrash her, it's your arse will bake!'

'You'll do just as I say, like a good little whore:
You'll be on your knees when I walk through the door;
At night you shall sleep at the foot of our bed
And if my wife can't take it, I'll wap you instead!'

'When suppertime comes you'll be under the table
And swallow your punk-swill as well as you're able.
I'll pay you in poundings: ten swivings a week,
And no other wage, I will wager, you'll seek.'

Now that dandy Cockney could not but agree
And although he groaned, his heart filled with glee
For from that young Ploughboy he'd had such a fall
That he never again wanted women at all.

That boy, and his bride, and his bitch, live in bliss
And although spend he swallows and guzzles down piss,
That Cockney, it's said, wore never a frown
Since the day he alighted at Beverley town.

Now all you bold Cockneys, hear what I relate,
Pay heed to this fellow; attend to his fate!
And never you rove out into the strange country
Or there you may suffer some frightful effrontery!

For if in that place you do bide and you tarry
And cast out your eye, and do seek one to marry
Some Ploughboy may pluck you for that marital state,
And you, like this Cockney, will find yourself his mate!