An Excellent New SONG, Called,
Rare News for the Female Sex.
Or, Good Luck at last.
To the Tune of, The Scotch H ay-makers.
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A S I of late was walking by a Country Bakers door
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I heard some women talking, near 17 or more,
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Then one among the rest, cryed out, I do protest,
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Of all the news I ever heard I think this is the best,
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I long'd to hear what this good news might be,
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She scarce could speak for laughing, but at the last quod she,
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Come maids be of good chear, for joyful news I hear,
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Now e'ery Lass that means to pass must all be puncht this Year.
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O this is joyful news, said the Bakers daughter Nan ,
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I lived have fifteen years, yet never any man,
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Would be so kind to me, to punch me well, said she,
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Or from the torment which I bear would ever set me free,
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For what's a greater plague than a heavy maidenhead
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And must I still endure it, I'd rather sure be dead,
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Since this good news I hear, my heart is void of fear,
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Neither Friend nor Foe, shall say me no, for ile be puncht this year.
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The farmers daughter Jone stood moulding of her bread,
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Said she, good neighbour Nancy no more words to be said
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You complain in 15 year of the torment which you [bear],
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I'm almost 30, is this not dirty, men should mock & jeer
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And ask us when we'll marry, alas how do we know,
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When they are pleas'd to call us, then we are free to go.
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And since this news I hear, I'll send to Dick , my dear,
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And once again Ile tell him plain, I must be puncht this year
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The Taylors daughter Betty cry'd, it is a burning shame
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Tho' I am young & pritty my sorrow is the same,
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My father keeps 5 men, but what if he kept ten,
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Such silly fools with pointless tools, can never punch me then
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Unto some lusty farmer with speed I must Repair,
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And tell to him the cause of my sorrow, grief, and care,
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Then he with merry cheer, will banish all my fear,
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And I as well as other Maids shall be well puncht this year.
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Then in came lusty Sarah , who lived at the Crown,
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Saying, I'm as brisk and airy as any Lass in town,
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My friends was at great charge in breeding me so large,
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To pass away my youthful day I think it dont me urge
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I'm Punchable 'tis known, my Marygold is blown,
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Come souldier or come sailor, and take me for your own,
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Let mother draw the beer, and father in his chair,
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For ile no longer be their slave if i'm not puncht this year.
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And then said aged Gillian , tho' I am old and weak,
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Yet Neighbours I am willing a word or two to speak,
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My [beaut]y is deca[y]'d by living long a maid,
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[And] to lead [a]pes in Hell at last indeed I am afraid,
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Accept of my petition, and let me have a share,
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I'm forced with submission my sorrow to declare,
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Then do not flout nor jear, for since this news I hear,
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My maiden head will strike me dead if i'm not puncht this year.
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The Bakers daughter Nancy , and all the rest reply'd,
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What man alive can fancy to make of [y]ou a bride,
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A nd therefore pray forbear your sorrow to declare,
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Yet if there's any rusty Punch that we can freely spare,
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We'll see what we can do, and be a Friend to you.
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I hope you will said she; so my neighbours all adieu,
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And thereupon each one departed & went home,
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With joint consent to be content till punching time does come.
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But one there was among 'em that they did think too young
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And as they all went dancing, she likewise had her Song,
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What tho' you flout at me cause that I am young you see,
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For all you hunch, yet I'll be punch'd, that currant I may be.
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For I am thirteen it is well known,
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And why maint I, good Sirs, then be punch'd as well as Joan .
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I am resolv'd, I say, that I'll not loose a day,
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But straight to John my Fathers man, & be punch'd as well as the[y.]
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