BALLAD. (Shenkin was porn in Glamorganshire)

Shenkin was porn in Glamorganshire, Odds will her poor heart runs all upon Winny, And her't kiss, and her't luff, and her't call her her dear; And make her cry Shinkin the tiffle is in you.

Her breath is as sweet as a leek, or a coat's, Her's like a plue mountain, so taper and thin, Aif her putter and seece would but yield her ten croats, To-morrow should see Shenkin married to Win.

When the curate at eve on the crowty playt, Oh te choys of her heart, Shenkin danced with his Winny, And hur lufft and telighted so in the teer maid, That she patting hur, cried out the tiffle is in you.

You skip like the kits, and you pount like the coats, To mollify sure enough I shall bekin, Aif your putter and seece wou'd but yield you ten croats, To-morrow should see Shenkin married to win.

Ah if her coot urship, great Squire Ap Shones, Could see how her's creefing, as sure as a kinny, His powels would yearn with her crunts and her croans, Ah no he'd himself fall in love with sweet Winny.

Thus Shenkin complain'd, as he drove home his goats, While the spuire and his comrades from hunting came in, He heard the fond tale, kindly paid the ten groats, And the next morning saw Shenkin married to Win.