Will the merry weaver, & Charity the Chamber-maid,
Or, A brisk enounter between a young-man and his love;
He in her eyes, such Beauties did discover,
Making him eager to approach his Lover;
But she a longing Maid as others be,
Desir'd for to learn her A. B. C.
He put the Fescue in her Lilly-white hand,
And taught her how the same to understand
To a pleasant new Tune; Or, I am a Weaver by my trade. Or, Now I am bound, etc.
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I Am a Weaver by my Trade,
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And I fell in love with a Servant Maid,
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And if I can but her favour win,
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Then I will weave, and she shall spin.
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At first I was a bashful fool,
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And not well vers'd in Cupids School,
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And as I bolder grew indeed,
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To tell you plain I did thus proceed.
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I went to my loves Chamber door,
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Where I had been many a night before;
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And upon the Bed whereas she lay,
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What I did there I dare not say.
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I came to my love late in the Night,
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And by the Stars that did shine so bright,
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where such a light sprung from her cloaths
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As though the morning Star had rose.
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I folded down the Milk-white sheet,
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To view her body so fair and clear,
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Where down below I did espy,
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Two Pillars of white Ivory.
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Beneath those Pillars a fountain laid,
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Which my poor wandring eyes betray'd;
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But of all Fountains that e're was found
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I could have wish't my self there drown'd.
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In a sweet slumber whilst she lay,
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I had no power for to go away;
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'or the more I view'd her, the more I might
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Her beauty dazled so my sight.
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At length she did awake from sleep,
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And fetched many a sigh most deep,
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Oh shall I dye a Maid, quoth she,
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Will no young-man come pitty me.
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THis Damosel she was wondrous fair,
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And her age it was not above fifteen;
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And oftentimes complained she,
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That she could not learn her A. B. C.
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I would some Schollar would me show,
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The Letters of my criss-cross-row;
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That my words in order might placed be,
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And I might learn my A. B. C.
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I wonder young-men are such fools,
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To keep so long from Venus Schools,
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If they did but know so much as we,
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They would ne'r forget their A. B. C.
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I hearing of her thus complain,
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Quoth I fair Maid from tears refrain,
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You need not troubled thus to be,
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For learning of your A. B. C.
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I am a young-man brisk and bold,
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And have my Letters learn'd of old,
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In Cupid's School well verst I be,
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And i'le teach you read your A. B. C.
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If you will be (kind Sir, she said)
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So courteous to a simple Maid,
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Most thankful I shall ever be,
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For learning of my A. B. C.
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With that I did myself prepare,
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And near I drew to this Maiden fair,
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There is some hopes I find, quoth she,
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That I shall learn my A. B. C.
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I gave her a Fescue in her hand,
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And bid her use it at her command;
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She said you best know where it should be,
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Come put it to my A. B. C.
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I found her very ripe of wit,
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And for a Schollar wondrous fit,
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She us'd her art as well as me,
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And all to learn her A. B. C.
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When I had taught her Lesson plain,
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She would repeat it o're again;
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Quoth she, this Lesson pleases me,
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I like to read my A. B. C.
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A thousand thanks she did me give,
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And vow'd to love me whilst she did live;
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My heart you now have won, quoth she,
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By learning me my A. B. C.
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And now if any Maidens have
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A mind to learn this Lesson brave
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Though I am a weaver of low degree,
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Ile teach them read their A. B. C.
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