Oh! how I sigh when I think on the Man; etc:
OR,
The Amorous Virgin.
Who never till this time did fancy man,
But she must love, let her do what she can:
To a dainty new Tune, much Sung in the Duke of Yorks Play-House.
|
TO little or no purpose,
|
I spent many a day,
|
In ranging the Park,
|
the Exchange and the Play:
|
For ne'r in my Ramble,
|
till now did, I prove,
|
So lucky to meet with
|
the man I cou'd love:
|
But Oh! how I sigh
|
when I think of the Man,
|
I find I must love,
|
let me do what I can.
|
How long I shall love him,
|
I can no more tell,
|
Then had I a Feavour,
|
when I should be well:
|
My passion shall kill me
|
before I will show it,
|
And yet I would give
|
all the world he did know it:
|
But Oh! how I sigh,
|
when I think he should wooe me,
|
I cannot deny what
|
I know wou'd undo me.
|
I always did wonder
|
how Maids could love Men,
|
How Ladies fell sick,
|
when men Lov'd not agen:
|
I could not tell where
|
the blind Boy then did lurk,
|
Or how the inticing
|
temptations did work:
|
But now I cry out,
|
I dye for the man,
|
Let wisdom and Reason,
|
do all what they can.
|
HE is the most handsom'st,
|
that ever I saw,
|
For love hath no reason,
|
and fancy no Law:
|
Were all mens perfections
|
contracted in one,
|
Accomplished Gallant,
|
'tis himself alone:
|
For Cupid I see
|
is a very trappan,
|
And I must love Charles,
|
let me do what I can.
|
When first I espy'd him,
|
he dazel'd my eye;
|
And flashes like Lighting,
|
did thorow him flye:
|
I blush'd, sigh'd and panted
|
my Pulses did move,
|
I am of opinion
|
there's Witchcraft in love:
|
But let love and reason,
|
do all what they can,
|
The Grave will have me,
|
if I have not the man:
|
I am so much perplext,
|
sometimes I could find
|
In my heart to go to him;
|
and tell him my mind:
|
Why if I did so,
|
what could he say then?
|
Such boldness would make him
|
not love me agen:
|
A woman is strengthned
|
much more then a man,
|
But yet I love him,
|
do all what I can.
|
This amorous Virgin,
|
was lying alone,
|
Hid in a close Arbour
|
and singing this Song.
|
And lay in a posture,
|
attired in a Dress,
|
Would tempt a Percision
|
unto Wickedness:
|
But all her complaint was
|
I must have the man,
|
Or I shall be ruin'd,
|
do all what I can.
|
The man whom she fancy'd
|
was up to the brim
|
In love with her Person,
|
as she was with him:
|
And being i'th next arbour,
|
where she made her moan,
|
He scal'd a strong Wall,
|
that was built all of Stone
|
And there he presents her
|
the very same man,
|
That must be her lover,
|
do all what he can.
|
They clung so together,
|
no power could unloose 'um
|
She hid her fond Blushes,
|
in's neck, and his bosome
|
And there to each other
|
their Hearts they reveal,
|
And tell those kind secrets,
|
they cannot conceal:
|
At last she is like
|
to be blest with the man,
|
That she must love
|
do all what she can.
|
They vow their affections,
|
and there plight their troth
|
They make up a Contract
|
bound fast by an Oath:
|
They wedded, they bedded,
|
by her parents consents,
|
The Maid hath her wishe,
|
The Man his content:
|
When providence orders,
|
a maid and a man,
|
They shall have each other,
|
do all what they can.
|
|
|
|
|
|