The Jealous old Dotard: OR, The Discovery of Cuckoldry: A Pleasant New Song.
Old Men beware when you young Wenches wed,
Least Lusty Gallants do ascend your Bed;
And horn your palsie-pates, for Youthful Blood
Fair Venus's pastime never yet withstood:
'Tis fit that all old Men should Cuckolds be,
Who think young women Love a sapless Tree.
To a pleasant new Tune.
Whether art thou going my old man?
my old man, I will call him my Lamb,
And whether art thou going my sweet old man?
my sweetest man alive?
To the Ale-house you Who—
When wilt thou come home my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb;
And when wilt thou come home my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
At night you Slut—
What wilt thou have for Supper my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb?
& what wilt thou have for supper my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
Eggs you Who—
Where shall I boyl them my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb,
And where shall I boyl them my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
In the Furnace you Slut—
How many wilt thou have my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb;
And how many wilt thou have my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
A thousand you Who—
I fear they will surfeit thee my old man,
my old man, I will call him my Lamb;
I fear they will surfeit thee my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive.
Then i'le dye you Slut—
And why wilt thou dye my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb;
And why wilt thou dye my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
Cause i'le be bury'd you Who—
And where wilt thou be bury'd my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb;
And where wilt thou be bury'd my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
In the Chimney-corner you Slut—
Why wilt thou be bury'd there my old man
my old man? I will call him my Lamb,
Why wilt thou be bury'd there my sweet old man,
my sweetest man alive?
Cause i'le hear the Pot boyl you Who—
Why art thou so cross my old man,
my old man? I will call him my Lamb;
Why art thou so cross my sweet old Man,
my sweetest man alive?
'Cause you Cuckold me you Slut—
Leave off your jealousie my old man,
my old man, I will call him my Lamb;
Leave off your jealousie my sweet old man,
my sweetest old man alive:
I am Horn-mad you Who—
Oh pray say not so my old man,
my old Man I will call him my Lamb:
Oh pray say not so my sweet old man,
my sweetest Man alive:
I know its true ye Slut—
Who told you of it my old man,
my old man I will call him my Lamb;
Who told you of it my sweet old Man,
my sweetest old man alive:
I peep'd through the Key-hole ye Wh—
Alas but with who my old man,
my old man, I will call him my Lamb:
Alas but with who my sweet old man,
my sweetest old man alive:
With a nimble Weaver ye Slut—
He's young and lusty my old Man,
my old man I will call him my Lamb;
He's young and lusty my sweet old man,
my sweetest old man alive:
Why am not I so too ye Slut—
No you're e'n sapless, my old man,
my old man I will call him my Lamb;
No you're e'n sapless my sweet old man,
my sweetest old man alive:
And must I be horn'd for't ye Wh—
Yes, I can't help it, my old man,
my old man I will call him my Lamb;
Yes, I can't help it my sweet old man,
my sweetest old man alive:
Then all the Town shall know't ye Slut—
FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby, in West-smithfield.