At an inn so merry,
Young and sharp as sherry,
Lived little Polly,
A pretty chambermaid;
Airy and brisk,
So full of fun and frisk,
She'd nod and smile and leer;
'Twas pretty Polly's trade.

Cavalieroes crusty,
Old and rusty-fusty,
Would sometimes desire
To kiss the chambermaid.
Poll then would squeak,
Look coy, and turn her cheek,
And sneer and sulk and pout;
'Twas pretty Polly's trade.

But when a pretty fellow,
Tight and vastly well, O,
Sharply wheeled about
To storm the chambermaid,
Then Poll was pleased,
And cried, “I wont be teased!”
She'd laugh and wink; then run
And follow her trade.