The Crafty Maids Approbation.
Wherein she shows either Black or Brown,
'Tis Money makes them straight go down;
When pritty Girls that Gold has none,
Their fortune is still to lye alone.
To the Tune of,
A fig for France.
DRaw near to me young Girls so fine,
Whose means and portion's like to mine;
If you'l but hear what I have pen'd,
'Twill make you smile before I end:
I once had Sweet-hearts fair and young,
Tho' now from me he's fled and gone;
But i'le tell you a very good reason why,
'Twas money did part my Love and I.
When first to me a Wooing he came,
He did desire to know my name;
I told him that my means was small,
He said he valued none at all:
So that my favour he could win,
He valued nothing else a pin:
But now he's gone and I know not why,
Twas mony, &c.
Yet for three years his Love stood fast,
And he vow'd for ever it should last;
But when my friends spoke of the same,
Then he was for another Dame:
Except so much money they'd give me,
No wife for him I must not be:
His words he clearly did deny,
So money did part, &c.
Thus maids may see, so may I too,
It is for money young-men Wooe:
Tho' great store of Love they do pretend,
Yet mark what falls out in the end:
When they find your Portions are but small,
Like to a Snake from you they'l crawl:
And to another streight they'l hye,
So money did part, &c.
If I had a head like a Horse,
Or a body as thick as a Mill-post,
So bags came but tumbling in,
Then my favour every fool wou'd win;
Or was I long-snouted like a Sow,
Or else Crook-backt like our fine Cow:
Have at her then, these boys would cry,
She's money enough, and what care I.
Young-men don't blush, you know 'tis true,
For let her name be
Mary or
Sue,
Tho' she was blabber-lipt, also blear-ey'd,
Yet money all those faults will hide;
Nay, were she the nastiest dingiest slut,
That a man durst not after her crack a Nut;
Had she but money, house, or Land,
I'm sure she would not stick long a hand.
Yet we whose portions are but small,
Let us not be dismaid at all;
Neither let us grieve, lament, nor swound,
For Beauty's worth a thousand pound:
Hang't, though my first true Love be gone,
I've the same face for another man;
And I'le prove honest till I dye,
Tho' money, &c.
If two young-men talk of a Wench,
As they do sit of an ale-bench;
She's a good Huswife, the one replyes,
But has she money, the other cries:
If she has none she's not for me,
Give me the Cash, hang Huswifery,
I love to finger that, for why,
'Tis money did part my Love and I.
By this young Girls may plainly see,
How deceitful these young-men be;
They'l search a Maid from top to toe,
Till all her secrets they do know;
Then if her means don't please his mind,
He quickly can turn like the wind:
I must have a wife with more, he'I cry,
So money, &c.
Such affection did that young-man bear,
That he often called me his dear;
Such vows and Oaths he made, 'tis known,
But now he doth them quite disown:
But since he's gone, sing farewel he,
I'le slight him more then he does me:
I'le ne'r lament, nor weep, nor cry,
Tho' money, &c.
I am full glad we parted in truth,
For since I hear he's a cross-grain'd youth;
But had he prov'd true, though ne'r so bare,
In wealth or woe i'de bear a share;
But now i'm free, i'le let that slide,
And ne'r think more to be a Bride:
There's nothing like to Liberty,
Since money, &c.
Thus have I told young Maidens all,
How the weakest go to the Wall;
But she that is full, and her Purse well strung,
She shall have Sweet-hearts come ding dong:
It's no matter for breeding or sense,
So she has but Cash, he'l have the Wench;
Black or brown he looks not o'th dye,
'Twas money did part my Love and I.
Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, & T. Passinger.