The Countrey FARMER: OR, THE Buxome VIRGIN.
To a
New Tune. called,
New-Market, or King
James's Jigg;
THere was a brisk Lass both Bonny and Brown,
That courted her Sweet heart, in our Town,
She laid by her work, her wheel, and Yarn,
To find out her love in the Farmers Barn,
Quoth she, if thou wilt be married,
We'l high to the
Priest, then to bed,
My Virgin Treasure i'le give thee
Ned,
That is to be plain my Maiden-head.
You know that my love is a Flame of Fire,
And burns when it cannot obtain desire,
My Beauty is now in it's bloom and prime,
And I cannot, nor wonnot delay the time:
I long for to taste of those tender joys,
Those soft Kisses, and wanton Toys,
That every Maid in her Wedding enjoys,
When Lasses with Lovers get lusty Boys.
A Garland of Flowers my love shall wear,
And i'le give him a lock of my coal-black-hair,
At every
Wake my love i'le treat,
And i'le give him kind busses as Cream-Bowls sweet;
Thou shalt be my
Buck and i'le be thy
Doe,
And i'le Milk, and thou shalt mowe,
I'le Card, and i'le Spin, while, you Harrow and sowe
And call upon
Dobbin with
Hey-ge-woe.
Quoth
Ned, for your Love I take no care,
But busie my self with my Plow, and Mate.
Young
Cupid I think is a lazy Loon,
And besides I intend for to marry
Joan?
Quoth
Nell, as for
Joan she will never Wed,
She lies like an Eunuch in her dull Bed,
She's ugly, and Old, looks paler then Lead,
Not like a Brisk Lass of a Woman bred.
Young
Colin upon
Martilla's Cheeks
A thousand delightful pleasures seeks,
He kisses her of't by her own good-will,
And will scarcely once let her all night lye still:
Come touch but my lips, with those lips of thine,
They are all melting, and all divine,
Like Grapes that appear on the Springing Vine,
As plump, and as soft, and as sweet as thine,
My dearest quoth
Ned, i'le but clout my shoone,
And we will be Married before 'tis noone:
I'le go to the Church and a Licence bring,
And buy thee a dainty fine Golden Ring:
I'le give thee to ride on my pacing Roan,
With the Grey Pillian I lent to
Joan,
Ah! waies me poor
Jugg, how will she make moan,
That Fate has design'd her to lye alone.
While
Jugg feels the pains of
Cupids Dart,
That wounds the breast of each Lovers heart,
She'l sit and she'l sigh upon the Plain,
And rehearse her disloyal Shepherds name,
While thee my dear
Gill in my arms i'le hugg,
And hide thee in the soft Sheet and Rugg,
Poor
Ioan shall look pale, that never lookt smugg,
Adieu to my gentle sweet Iugg-Iugg-Iugg.
Though
Juggy be crusty what need I care,
For she may have Lovers enough to space,
But now she is lately so sower grown,
She minds not the young-men that make their moan,
Yet lusty for Life, and full of good will,
I was yesterday, so I am still,
Ale bring all my Grist to my true Lovers Mill,
And hugg and make much of my
Gill, Gill, Gill,
FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in Pyecorner