An Excellent new Song, Called, TheYoung-Mans Answer To the MAIDS Garden of TYME, Let no Young-maidens shew their proud disdain, In slighting Lovers when they're not to blame, Least by their haughty Pride as I may tell, They slip their Youth, and so lead Apes in Hell. To a pleasant New Tune.
|
MAids that are fair and young,
|
why should you thus complain,
|
Against a Batchellors smooth tongue
|
when Love is all their aim.
|
If we should curse or swear,
|
or surly to you be,
|
O then you justly might forbear
|
a Young-mans company,
|
You say a young man went
|
into your Garden fine,
|
And there unto your discontent
|
he pluckt up all your time.
|
I blame him for the same,
|
he might have spared some,
|
Or for the time that he did take,
|
plant others in the room.
|
Come pritty Lass I pray
|
let me your Garden view,
|
And what fine flowers you do want,
|
ile plant them o'er a new.
|
And if you'l try me once,
|
I doubt not but you'l say,
|
I thank you heartily young man,
|
pray come another day.
|
And in your Garden fine
|
a Fountain there does flow,
|
With pritty bushes all a-round,
|
that Fountain too does grow.
|
Fair Maiden let me in,
|
and then you need not fear,
|
But I the bushes fine will trim,
|
your Fountain too will clear.
|
And if your time I take,
|
ile give you in return,
|
Cornations of the better sort.
|
and Flowers of the Sun.
|
And for your Fountain too,
|
thus further I can tell,
|
Ile put in pritty Fishes there,
|
will please you wondrous well,
|
And in this Pond they'll breed,
|
for to increase your store,
|
and if you once but let me in,
|
you'l nere deny me more.
|
at length the young Maid then
|
consented to my mind,
|
But said withal, her heart should break
|
if I should prove unkind.
|
When I came to the Garden-door,
|
said she you'l me undo,
|
and steal away my precious time,
|
and leave me nought but Rue.
|
No no, then I reply'd,
|
my pritty Maid ne're fear,
|
For now the Bargain is fast ty'd,
|
ile stay from Year to Year.
|
Your Fountain ile new stock,
|
your Garden ile new plant;
|
There's nothing that is requisite,
|
my pritty Maid shall want.
|
Now maids be ruled by me,
|
nere use Young-men unkind,
|
But take the first that comes to hand,
|
if he be to your mind.
|
|
|
|
|
|