The Contention, between a
Countryman & a Citizen,
For a beauteous London Lass, who at length is married
to the Country Man.
To the Tune of, Oh Mother Roger. This may be printed R. P.
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Country Man. THere is a Lass of London City
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I must needs go and kiss and woe
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She is bonny, brisk and Witty,
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And I think won't say me No
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few words may I hope suffice,
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For she is as kind, as Wise,
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fair and lovely like the Skies
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Brighter then young Maudlins Eyes
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Sweet Cupid let her be my Wife
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And I'le love her as my Life.
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Citizen.
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Go prethee Ploughman, mind thy Ploughing,
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What hast thou to do with Love?
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Scratch thy Head, and leave of Bowing,
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all thy cringing will not move,
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Rough, and Rude as Winds thou art,
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prethee go and mind thy Cart
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From fair London Town depart,
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I must win this Virgins Heart.
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'Tis I must have her for my Wife
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For She Loves a London Life.
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Country-man. Tho' you do look more gay & gaudy
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I have Gold, and Guineys too
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And though I can't talk so Baudy
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I can kiss as well as you,
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Prethee mind the Park and Plays,
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Till thy little stock decays
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Pass away thy wanton Days,
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In the London modish ways,
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While I obtain her for my Wife,
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For she hates a London Life.
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Citizen.
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Come Prithee give thy Wooing over
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Mark! the bristles of thy Beard,
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Downie Cheeks become a Lover,
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Yours wou'd make a Maid afraid,
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But if you must have your fill,
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Kiss young Maudlin at the Mill,
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Kiss her till she does lye still
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And does yield to what you will:
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For I must have [?]his for [th?] my Wife,
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She does like a London Life.
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Country-man. Altho' you were fine Cloath & Beaver
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and I but Poor Felt and Frieze,
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Leather breeches will not leave her
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not for all beneath the Skies.
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Nor for any Fop in Town,
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Not for any Bulleys Frown.
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not for Miss in Gaudy-Gown.
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Not for Girl of High Renown.
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For I will have her for my Wife,
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And will Love her as my Life.
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Citizen.
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Go find thee out some Farmers Daughter,
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she may stoop unto thy Lure,
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Though at this thy mouth does Water.
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She will ne'r love thee i'me sure,
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Gathor Poppies in thy Corn
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go and wind some Cuckolds Horn,
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Here thou wilt be quite forlorn:
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she was for thy Betters born.
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'Tis I must have her for my Wife.
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For she loves a London Life.
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Country-man.
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I fear your Fortune will miscarry
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You build Castles in the Air,
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She with me resolves to marry
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Though indeed you look more Fair,
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While you Ramble in the Streets.
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think of Love, & Lovers Feats.
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For I will enjoy those sweets
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and take Measure of her Sheets,
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For I must have her for my Wife,
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And will love her all my Life.
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Citizen.
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Methinks some Tawny, brown fac'd Creatur[e]
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you might in some Village prove,
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What is Form, or Face, or Feature,
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To a Clown that knows not Love,
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All my hopes are now allaid,
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Fortune, Fortune. (Oh that Jade)
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That blind slut I must upbraid.
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gives a Clown a Beauteous Maid,
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Who will enjoy her for his Wife,
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Though she hate a Country Life.
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Country Man.
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You are mistaken (my young Lover,)
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she with me with me will be more b[l]est,
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Who would a Fair Maid give over?
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till he was with her possest
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Now the Marriage knot is Tied
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now I have her by my side,
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While (my Don) you are denied
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and must now go seek a Bride.
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For I now have her for my Wife,
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And will Love her all my Life.
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FINIS.
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