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I. G. to Will a Footman, his Rival.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I. G. to Will a Footman, his Rival.

Will , hast thou run so long by the Coach-side,
Nothing will serve thee now, but, up and ride?
Believe it (Sir) if you take her in hand,
Your suit goes then most forward, when you stand.
Footmen (alas) are slippery as Eels,
For, at the last distast they take their heels.
If in her bed you ever set your foot,
Skip-skennel, I shall ride in Your Coach-boot.
When You and She in marriage bed do meet,
Each of you are provided of a sheet.
He lace your back, and tear, at my approach,
Your Breeches of the lining of the Coach.
Will, thou art more for Trot, than troth I see,
A Rival fitter for a Horse than me.
Lightfoot look to't, I shall be Servant still;
To Mol, when thou hast run thy Country (Will.)
Thou talkst of Land, alas (Will) thou hast none,
Devil a foot, but what thou runn'st upon.
But we will both be Grooms, and to this come,
Ile be her Bride, and thou her stable-groom.
Or if thou wilt? and this I hope, will do't man,
Ile be her head, and thou shalt be her Foot-man.