The Seamans Deceit.
OR,
The wanton Wench of WAPPING.
Being a pleasant new SONG, Shewing how a handsome young Maid was
deceived by a perfidious Sea-man, and (under promise of Marriage)
being gotten with Child, to her great loss, grief, and ruin of her
reputation. To the Tune of, The Journey-man Shoo-maker.
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YOu Maids that live in London town,
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mark well my lamentation;
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I was a Maid a comely brown,
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as most within the nation:
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But now a Seaman (by his art)
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hath brought me to such sorrow,
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That I could wish (with all my heart)
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to dye before the morrow
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He saw me walking in the street,
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no object vain did move me;
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He view'd me a[l]l 'twixt head, and feet,
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and instantly did love me[:]
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He followed me along to see
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where was my habitation;
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And humbly beg'd to speak with me,
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to my great admiration.
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Quoth he, a spark of your bright eye
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hath set me all a burning,
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And if in love you'l not Supply,
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i'le end my days in mourning:
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No Antidote can save my life,
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or me preserve from dying,
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For if you will not be my wife,
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i'le kill my self with crying
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I said, the flame of youthful love
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which passions flash o're-casteth:
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Doth seldom ever constant prove,
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but in a moment Blasteth:
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A marriage is a thing of weight,
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and great Consideration;
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If once amiss none can it right,
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then take deliberation.
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He did reply, my love is such
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as will take no denial;
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And if it were put to the touch,
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it would endure the tryal,
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Not all the Water of the Sea,
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nor waves that swells the Ocean,
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Shall quench or drown my love to thee
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'tis far beyond their Motion.
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Thus with his vows and flattering tongue,
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he gain'd my fond affection;
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And stole my heart with him along,
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to keep in his protection.
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But (in his converse) as he came
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to gaze upon my buty,
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He kindled was into a flame,
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and on his knees paid duty,
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And now my belly swels up high,
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my sweet-heart he hath left me;
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Here comfortless to weep and cry,
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of my good name bereft me.
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All my Relations call me Whore,
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and my aquaintance jeer me,
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But if I were as once before,
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the Rogue should ne'r come near me.
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I sink in Seas of endless shame,
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my grief's beyond expression;
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And every one my self doth blame,
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for trusting his profession,
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As soon's a Seaman comes on shore,
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he still must be a doing;
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He drinks and swears, calls for a whore,
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or needs must be a wooing.
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Then Maids and Widows all that be,
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beware by my disaster,
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Let every one remember me,
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and prove a Wife forecaster.
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Ne'r trust a Seaman for his oaths,
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his complements, or Baulen,
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There's no belief within his cloaths,
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nor truth in a Tarpalin.
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