A New ballad of an amorous coachman, who was so difficult in pleasing his love-sick fancy; that after his several addresses to the female sex, he was at last married: which made him cry out, Alass! my humour is so hard to please, that I find love, not love, but a disease ... : To the tune of, There was a brisk lass.

Abstract

"This may be printed, R.P." Place and date of publication suggested by Wing. Without music. Contains four cut illustrations. Reproduction of original in the Bodleian Library.