The Country-Clowns Delight.
Being a Pleasant new LOVE-SONG.
OR,
A Conference between Dick and his Sweet-Heart Betty in Richards Bed-
Chamber in the Dark.
To the Tune of the Country Farmer.
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T Here was a young-man both handsome & rare,
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That courted a Maiden, both comely and fair,
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He threw by his Spade, his Sithe, and his Flale,
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To drink with his dearest a Bottle of Ale:
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Quoth he, if thou wilt but yield to me,
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And let me but sweetly fugle with thee,
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I vow and protest what ever betide,
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I'le be thy Bridegroom, and thous't be my Bride.
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Love is a passion that nothing can quench,
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But hugging and kissing a bonny brisk Wench,
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The spangles of love which shine in your eyes
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Entiseth my phancy (that's fleshly) to rise:
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Come then dear Betty and give me a kiss,
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Before I enter my pleasure and bliss,
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I'le give thee a toss in o'r in my Bed,
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And there I'le make bold with thy Maiden-head.
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The Maid she reply'd, pray be not in haste,
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You know that I'm honest, both modest and chaste,
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I smile, and I blush to hear you thus prate
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Of hugging, and kissing, and know not of what:
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You know I'me bonny, and buxome too
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And love to be kiss'd, as well as you,
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But pray you young-man first make me your bride
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Then freely, and frankly I'le lye by your side.
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Your phancy's but feeble, your knowledg is small
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Your wit and your craft is nothing at all;
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Though Maids do intend with young men to play
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They'l sigh & they'l simper, they'l blush & say nay;
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But he thats discreet will never inquire,
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If Love be hot like a flame of fire,
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If loving embraces once make me love-sick,
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There's no other medicine but my brave Dick .
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Dick gravely did answer I feel by thy thigh,
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Thour't modest, and chast, as e're I lay by,
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And yet for all this be not in a huff,
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But grant me a little since thou hast enough;
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I know by thy pulse that thy Maiden-head
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Is heavy, like a fedder of lead,
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Yet I'le do my best, thy fancy to please,
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And cure thee by laughing of longing disease.
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Your Physick is good by Ladyes 'tis lov'd,
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And is by experience daily approv'd:
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Yet it's predominant is to compell
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A lass that is loving, her Belly to swell;
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I will not hazzard to have the bold face,
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To sell my Name for a Jobb of disgrace,
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Foul water can quench the flame of a fire,
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Then call for a Whore, and drown your desire.
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Sweet Betty forbear, dear Dicky did say,
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Be not hard hearted, for with thee I'le play,
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I find you are fickle, unconstant in mind
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You change, and you hover, and turn like the [W]ind,
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But if your Maiden-head in your bones leap,
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Then you'r a Criple, and cannot escape,
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You burn me alive, the eyes of a lass,
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Resemble in heat a bright burning-glass.
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It is no hard matter to blow to a flame
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A Cock that by nature inclines to the Game:
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But Hony should I thy proffer deny,
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I'me guilty of Murther, if thou shouldest die:
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Come then dear Dicky and give me a kiss,
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And boldly presume to enter thy Bliss,
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The Valey of love affordeth more joys,
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Then Fields of Elizium , which are but toys.
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By M.H.
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