This is an older version of THE FEMALE PRESS-GANG, posted above. It can be seen at the Bodleian collection, also in The Roxburgh Ballads, Vol 3, Part 2, with notes by Wm. Chappell (Hertford: The Ballad Society, 1879), page 402.

[Roxb. Coll. II. 331, and Pepys, IV. 368]
The Maidens Frollick:
OR,
A brief Relation how Six Lusty Lasses has Prest full Fourteen Taylors on the backside of St. Clements, and the other adjacent Places.
To the Tune of an Orange. Licensed according to Order.

Of late near the Strand, we well understand,
Six Lasses that took a brisk Frollick in hand;
'Twas thus I profess, they in Seaman's Dress,
Not far from the May-pole resolved to Press
Fourteen Taylors.

Young Nancy she ty'd a Sword by her side,
And she was resolved for to be their Guide:
This young Female Crew, Kate, Bridget, & Prue,
And she that went formost was Lieutenant Sue,
Pressing Taylors.

These Maids by consent, their minds fully bent,
First thro' the back side of St. Clements they went,
Where just in the Street they a Taylor did meet,
They Prest him, and streight he fell down at their feet,
I’m a Taylor.

I tell you, said he, I ne'er was at Sea,
And therefore, kind Gentlemen, pray set me free,
And pity those Tears, I have liv'd Forty Year,
And never us'd Weapon, but Bodkin and Shears,
I'm a Taylor.

But Susan and they strait haul'd him away,
While Tom the poor Taylor did sigh, beg, and pray,
Yet all was in vain, for they did him retain,
And told him that now he must fight on the Main,
Tho' a Taylor.

Then to White-hart-yard they went with regard,
And there a poor Taylor was labouring hard
Upon his Shop-board, Nan drew out her Sword,
Saying, he must King William his Service afford,
Tho' a Taylor.

The Taylor did quake, nay, quiver and shake,
At length with a pitiful Voice he did spake,
While Tears down did run, he cry'd, I'm undone,
I never did know the right end of a Gun,
I'm a Taylor.

Then stout Boston Bess said, Nevertheless,
You must go with us, we've a Warrant to Press;
Then wave this Excuse, and lay by your Goose,
Such nimble young Fellows may be of great use,
Tho' a Taylor.

And then, by report, they went to Round Court,
Where Seven young Taylors were making of sport,
Their Hearts void of Care, tho' when they come there,
These Maids did catch napping, as Moss catch'd his Mare,
Seven Taylors.

They thought to resist, but Joan with her Fist,
She thumpt them about till the Taylors they Pist;
And then in a rage, the rest did engage,
And brought them away to the Round-House or Cage,
These poor Taylors.

With all might and main, down to Dutchy-lane,
These Petticoat Press-Masters hurried again,
To Press some they knew, 'twas Morgan and Hugh,
A couple belong'd to the Cross-legged Crew,
And Welsh Taylors.

Then Morgan hur railes, crys, Splutter-a-nails,
Hur newly come up to fair London from Wales,
Then pray cease your Strife, hur has a young Wife,
Besides hur was never yet kill'd in hur Life,
A Welsh Taylor.

But yet, right or wrong, they brought 'em along,
And happen'd to meet with Three more in the Throng,
Then said lusty Jane, You must serve King & Queen!
And thus these stout Females did press full fourteen,
And all Taylors.