# A NEW Summons
TO ALL THE
MERRY MAKING JADES
THAT ATTEND AT
HORN FAIR.

COME all you merry jades,
Who love to play the game;
And whiff your husbands are abroad,
To have some of the same,
You are summoned to Horn Fair,
Your fine there for to pay,
And cares your honest brothers,
Who assemble there that day.

Moll, Nell, and Sue, with Kitty too,
And Bridget, Nan, and Pat,
With Sally Prim, and likewise Doll,
Will trudge without a hat;
With Bess, and Kate, and Margery,
And simpering Peggy too;
All these and many more must come,
They are of the fumbling crew.

See where they are assembled,
With bottle and with glass,
And now the liquor it doth fland,
By passing round so fast;
And brandishing, the ladies swear,
They one and all agree,
Their husbands horns to tip with gold,
When they come home from sea.

The way it must be levell'd,
By the men who go before,
Or with the ladles they will crack
Their crowns will make them sore,
Then snapping of their fingers,
As they along do go,
Laughing at the rabbles as they pass,
Crying, cuckolds all a row.

The breaches they do carry,
And swear they will them wear,
And have their sparks when they please,
Tho' husbands jealous are;
What care they for such fumblers,
They with their sparks can go,
And answer all that laugh at them,
Cuckolds all a row.

In the boozing kens they fuddle,
And within the fair,
And rapping with their ladles,
They barter ware for ware;
There's money spent in every tent,
And each man hugs his frow,
Kissing, hugging, pulling, hauling,
Cuckolds all a row.

Some horns are tipt with silver,
And others tipt with gold,
Which are to all spectators,
Moft lovely to behold;
Crooked horns and hooks,
And horns that shrill do blow,
When they are put into their mouths,
Crying, cuckolds all a row.

They jog along unto the church,
With all their horned tribe,
No one will be excused,
By means of any bribe;
The parson with his curled horns,
Invites them for to go
Into the church, they think not much,
Being cuckolds all a row.

The parson makes his text,
Upon the horned crew,
And loudly doth exclaim against
The sin of adultery too;
And when they do come out again,
To mocking they do go,
And flourishing the ladies cry,
Cuckolds all a row.

Old maids and fufty bachelors,
With wanton widows too,
When you intend to marry,
Know what you must go through.
But rather than lead apes in hell,
Along with us do go,
No horned brother dare make game,
They are cuckolds all a row.

The miller they do mock,
Seeing his spreading horn,
Perhaps his wife is with some spark,
Whiff! he's grinding of his corn,
She fays her mill it sha'n't idle flend,
Whiff! her husband's it doth go,
No horned brother dares make game,
They're cuckolds all a row.

Now having played their frolics,
They homeward do repair,
And sounding of their horns aloud,
Their coming do declare:
The people as they pass,
Make game we well do know,
Yet, nevertheless, if we may guess,
They're cuckolds all a row.

Printed and sold by T. Batchelar, 115, Long Alley, Moorfields, London.