The Country Squire Deceiv'd;
OR, The Welsh-man's Invention for a New Suit of Cloaths.
To the Tune of, Let Caesar live long.
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A Rich Country Squire, call'd up to the Town,
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Left a young Wife with-Child, just fit to lye down
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And seeing her jolly plump Belly swell fair,
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With the speedy sweet hopes of a young Son and Heir,
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He beg'd of his Lady to give him the Joy,
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Of sending up word when she brought him a Boy.
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And that to his hand the glad News might come safe,
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The Squire kept a Welshman, an honest true Taff;
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To him at his parting, he swears all the Oaths,
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That he would give Taffy a new Suit of Cloaths,
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If he'd come up to London to give him the Joy,
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That his Lady was safe brought to Bed of a Boy.
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Brought to Bed of a Boy! Hdsplutter, crys Taff,
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If that gets her new Cloaths, her warrant 'em safe:
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Fare her well then dear Master, to London go trudge it,
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And her will come after with News in her Budget:
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Let Welshman alone then for giving her Joy,
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Her's certain her Mistress shall bring her a Boy.
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His Master he scarce had been gone a whole week,
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But Crying-out Lady begins for to Squeak;
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And finding her Pains and her Throws come so fast,
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They forc'd were to send for the Midwife at last;
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But instead of a Son, to the damping her Joy,
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The poor squalling Brat proves a cleft-codded Boy.
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At this the poor Welshman storms, splutters, and raves,
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A Girl did her say! her are all Foods and Knaves:
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'Tis a Boy, Splutter-a-nails, sure Taffy should know;
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Wou'd her loose her new Cloaths! cheating Rogues serve her so
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No, her knows better things, for to London with Joy,
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Will her gang to her Master with News of a Boy.
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To London he trots them, no Post could go faster
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And all in a Rapture, he finds out his Master;
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Oh Master, her Mistress is brought to Bed safe.
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And what has God sent her! Oh, Master, crys Taff,
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Her come up to London to bring her the Joy,
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That her Mistress has brought her a thumping brave Boy
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But Master, her Cloaths: Aye Taffy, crys Squire,
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Call Draper and Taylor, and have thy desire:
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So with Needle and Thimble falls Pricklouse aboard,
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And strait Riggs up Taffy as fine as a Lord;
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For nothing's too dear to pay for the Joy
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Of hearing dear Wife brought to Bed of a Boy.
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But when the Squire back to the Country does come,
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And welcom'd by all the good People at home,
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In haste to dear Wife in the Straw does repair,
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To wish her all Joy of her young Son and Heir:
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Alas! crys the Lady, my Honey and Joy,
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Poor Baby, 'tis only a cleft-codded Boy.
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A Girl, says the Squire! O this lying Welsh Cur!
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Have patience, crys Taff, her beseech her sweet Sir;
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Her besworn 'tis a Boy still, no better nor worse,
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And let her be judg'd by her Midwife and Nurse,
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Let her take up her Tayl, and look, my sweet Joy,
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If her tell her a Lye when her says 'tis a Boy.
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The Nurse turns the Breech of the Child up all bare,
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And crys, ye Welsh Coxcomb, I prithee look there;
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Has the Child been a Boy, ye silly dull Block,
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In this very place here it should have a Cock;
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For without a Cock here, that pretty sweet Toy,
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I defie the whole World for to make it a Boy.
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So hasty, crys Welsman God pless the sweet Biddy,
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Udsplut, wou'd her have her a Cock there already?
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What a pox, has her got neither Conscience nor Honour
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To have her so early have Cock put upon her;
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No, wait but a little, I prithee sweet joy,
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I warrant her time enough still for a Boy.
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A Cock would her have? a Cock did her say?
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Yes, all in good season; for let her but stay
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Till her grow to her fifteen or sixteen years prime,
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And if her han't got her a Cock by that time,
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E'ne take her and Hang her; I warrant, poor Joy,
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By that time her neither will want Cock nor Boy.
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