The Doting Old DAD, OR, The Ʋnequal Match betwixt a Rich Muckworm of Fourscore and Ten, and a Young Lass scarce Nineteen.
When Dads thus Old, whose Blood is cold,
young Damsels seeks to Wed;
For their neglect, they may expect
Horns grafted on their Head.
To the Tune of,
All Trades.
This may be Printed, R. P.
THere was a young Damsel of fate,
was Woo'd by a Dad very Old,
He had a right worthy Estate,
besides store of Silver and Gold:
His Service he proffer'd her then,
yet he was as pale as a Ghost,
He being full Fourscore and Ten,
and she was but Nineteen at most:
But ever when he drew nigh,
the Damsel would straight reply;
I'le never have you, for what can you do?
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
Although I am wrinckled and Lean,
yet I will be loving to thee,
And deck thee as fine as a Queen,
if thou wilt be Marry'd to me:
Both Silver and Gold I have store,
and yet though thy Portion is small,
If I had a thousand times more,
yet you shou'd be Mistris of all:
But ever when he drew nigh,
the Damsel would straight Reply,
I'le never have you, for what can you do?
O fie upon Fumblers, fie,
I tell thee my amorous Girl,
if that thou wilt he but my Bride,
I'le give thee Rich Iewels and Pearl,
and twenty new Nick-knacks beside:
A Tower and Top-knot so fine,
a Mask and a delicate Fan;
O tell me now wilt thou be mine,
endeavour to love an Old Man:
But ever when he, &c.
He proffer'd her still to advance her,
but thus with Discretion, said she,
You re-Old enough to be my Grandsir,
and therefore no Husband for me:
For when I behold your bald Pate,
and stragling Hairs white and gray,
O then at a sorrowful rate,
I weeping and sighing, shall say:
O what a hard Fortune have I,
though Marry'd, a Maiden must dye;
The more is my grief, I see no relief,
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
Now hearing the Damsels intent,
and finding he could not prevail,
Away to her Mother he went,
and told her a pittiful Tate:
Your Daughter she is in a rage,
and all my kind proffers won't heed,
Besides, she despises my Age,
which ought to be Honour'd indeed:
For when to her I draw nigh,
she makes this strange Reply;
I'le never have you, for what can you do?
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
She straight for her Daughter did send,
before the Old Man went away,
In duty she straight did attend,
to hear what her Mother would say:
My Daughter, you well understand,
that he has good Treasure enuff,
In Money, nay, Cattel and Land,
with abundance of good Houshold-stuff:
Then Daughter tell me but why,
you will not freely-comply?
Said she, he is Old, his Blood it is cold,
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
Her Mother did hear her therefore
she straightway did call her asid
[...]
You know he has Riches great st
[...]
and therefore you must he his B
[...]
And as for the pleasure of Youth,
if he can't get Daughter or So
[...]
Believe me, I'de have you, in tru
[...]
do e'ne as your Mother has don
[...]
For when my Old Dad would deny,
to yield me a daily supply,
I still had a Friend my Will to attend
for fie upon Fumblers, fie.
Thus you may your sorrows relief
although an Old Fumblers Wif
[...]
It is easie to make him believe
you love him as dear as
[...]our life
You need not his Iealousie dread,
if that you will make but each nig
[...]
A Cordial, and put him to Bed,
then kiss with a Gallant all night
For Daughter, I cannot deny,
but Wives may want a supply,
Which if it be so, abroad we must go,
for fie upon Fumblers, fie.
The Damsel she gave her Consent,
and they the next morning was
[...]
The day was in Merriment spent,
at length they did hurry to Bed:
And then said the Feeble Old Man,
thy Fancy I'de willingly feed,
But can do no more than I can,
accept of the Will for the Deed.
In Bed he Grunting doth I, e,
which makes her often Reply,
I still am a Maid, and shall be, she said,
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Sign the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital Gate, in West-Smithfield.