Love in a Mist;
A loving Couple once together met,
And changing words, a Passion did beget:
A Mist before my eyes I have, quoth she,
What dost thou mean, my Boy, to do with me:
To the Tune of,
Hey boys up go we.
A Thumping lusty Country Lad,
was tripping o're the Plain,
And meeting with a hansome Maid,
some talk did entertain:
Quoth he, thou art exceeding fair,
thou dost my heart surprize,
Quoth she, I prithee have a care,
There's a mist before mine eyes.
Now is my heart thine own, quoth he,
so beautiful thou art,
That I must needs thy Captive be,
I feel such deadly smart:
Quoth she, if thou but Loyal prove,
i'le not thy love despise,
For I am almost fall'n in love,
With a mist before mine eyes.
Said he, my love it is intire,
I love thee as my life,
If thou wilt grant me my desire,
then thou shalt be my wife:
Imbracing her, he laid her down,
and just as down she lies,
I pray thee now my fancy Crown,
Though a mist's before mine eyes.
TO work they went immediately,
he touch'd her to the quick,
And so did please her Fantasie,
with this same pritty trick:
Quoth she, that Maid is surely mad,
that this same sport denies,
VVhen she meets with a lusty Lad,
Though a mist's before her eyes.
Thus kissing and imbracing too,
upon the Green they lay,
She cry'd, I have not yet my due,
come let us longer play:
This is the prittiest kind of Trade,
that Love did e're devise,
Sure it is Cupid that hath made,
This mist before mine eyes.
A gentle fire within my breast,
methinks I now do feel,
The pleasure cannot be exprest,
no tongue can it reveal:
But if I were a Maid again,
I should my self despise,
'Tis pritty sport I tell you plain,
Though a mist's before mine eyes.
My Mother she was much too blame,
to me so much perswade,
Never to mind this pleasant Game,
but still to live a Maid:
For when she tells me so again,
her Counsel i'le despise,
I cannot see i'le tell her plain,
There's a mist before mine eyes.
Come let us try the tother touch,
for I have not enough,
She that doth at this pastime grutch,
doth sure mistake the stuff:
And as he entred then the Fort,
'tis mighty sweet, she crys,
Oh who would think this pritty sport
Casts mists before mine eyes.
She put this Youngster to his Trumps
till he began to blow,
But up and down she briskly jumps,
for sometimes 'twill be so:
Quoth she, i'le never after miss,
such opportunities,
For this is perfect Lovers bliss,
With a mist before mine eyes.
At last he forc'd was to retire,
which caused her to frown,
He hop'd that he had cool'd her fire;
and as he laid her down,
He thought it would good manners be,
again to see her rise:
And thou, quoth she, hast cured me,
Of the mistbefomi rene eyes.
Printed for I. Deacon, at the Angel in Guiltspur-street.