The West-Country Wedding:
OR,
Honest Susan's good Fortune, who resisting the Temptations of her aged Master the Baker, became
his careful Bride, and Mistress of all his Treasure.
To the Tune of, If Love's a sweet Passion, etc. Or, Fond Boy, etc.
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COme all you old Bakers, attend and give ear,
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While I sing you a ditty of Somersetshire,
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Where there liv'd an old miser, a baker by trade,
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Who did keep a young servant, a beautiful maid:
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Her he often intreated to lye by his side;
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O be kind to thy master, the baker he cry'd.
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Said Susan, what kindness, sir, do you request?
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He reply'd, in thy bosom to take a night's rest;
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Which, if I may enjoy it, I solemly swear,
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I will treat thee to morrow at Michaelmas-fair;
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Thou shalt have tarts and custards, with sherry besides,
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Then be kind to thy master, the baker he cry'd.
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O grant me what I do so earnestly crave,
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Then a new pair of holy day hose thou shalt have,
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And new shoes with silk ribands, both gawdy and green:
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Would not this be a delicate sight to be seen?
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Therefore prithee be free, love, to lye by my side,
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And be kind to thy master, the baker he cry'd.
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Why should you desire the wanton to play?
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Do but look of your locks, that are hoary and gray,
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Which will soon blast such fond idle notions as these;
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But I find by the sequel, old rats do love cheese;
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Yet the thoughts of your actions I scorn and deride,
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I will ne'er be your harlot, no, no, she reply'd.
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Your proffers I hope, I have grace to refuse;
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Sir, a fig for your hose, and your holy day shoes;
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I will never receive them, and therefore forebear,
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'Tis not you that shall catch me so soon in a snare;
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You must seek for some other to lye by your side,
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For I'll ne'er be your harlot, no, no, she reply'd.
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I'll buy thee a scarf and a farendine-gown,
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Full as rich and as gay as the best in the town.
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With a muff, fan, and likewise a topping commode,
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When the harvest and pleasure of love I have mow'd;
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Therefore prithee sweet Susan come lye by my side,
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And be kind to thy master, the baker reply'd.
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A chain of fine gold on my dear I'll bestow,
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Nay, I'll deck the with laces and ribands also;
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I have likewise a diamond, sweet Susan in store,
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Which I freely will give thee, and twenty things more,
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If thou wilt be but willing to lye by my side,
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And be kind to thy master, the baker he cry'd.
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My chastity, master, shall never be sold,
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For your gawdy apparel, silk, silver, or gold;
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I had rather be cloath'd in mean country gray,
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Than to be a leud harlot both gawdy and gay;
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Therefore, pray Sir be civil, you must be deny'd,
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I will not be your harlot, no, no, she reply'd.
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Said he, my sweet Susan, I love thee as life,
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I will make thee my darling, my jewel, my wife,
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All that ever I have in the world shall be thine,
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Let us marry, and then thou art lawfully mine.
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Tell me, art thou contented to be my fair bride?
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I can never deny you, no, no, she reply'd.
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Now thus the old baker and Susan agreed
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To be married the very next morning with speed:
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Now a match so unequal scarce ever was seen,
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He was threescore and seven, and she but sixteen;
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But so long as he made her his darling and bride,
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She cou'd never deny him, no, no, she reply'd.
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He is aged, and therefore he cannot live long,
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Wherefore Susan resolves that she never will wrong
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Her old baker, but love him as well as she can;
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When he is dead, then she'll marry a jolly young man;
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And the wealth which he leaves her a husband will gain,
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Thus she'll have no great reason to weep and complain.
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