THE
Love-sick Blacksmith:
OR,
The Unkind MAID
OF
Ratcliff's Cruelty.
Tune, Pegg and the Soldier. Licens'd and Enter'd according to Order.
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NEar Old Gravel-lane, a Widower does dwell,
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That courted a Maiden whom he loved well,
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But she often cried, Your Suit pray forbear,
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For a Blacksmith I never can Love, I declare:
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Your Hammer and Anvil wont with me agree,
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Therefore for an Answer take this now from me,
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And leave off your Wooing, since I must be plain,
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For a Blacksmith is what I did ever disdain;
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Do you think that I design ever to have
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A Blacksmith to follow me unto my Grave;
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No, no, for an Answer I pray take this here,
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For a Blacksmith I never can Love, I declare.
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Her Answers they daily did run in his Mind,
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Yet he proved Constant, tho' she was Unkind,
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And often his Love he would make to her known;
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But her Answer was always, Pray from me begone,
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And do not persist in your Suit here to me,
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For single I do resolve ever to be;
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For Men are deceitful, I to you declare,
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Especially those that do speak you most fair.
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A Maid shall wait on thee, my Dear, if you'll have
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Me to be your Husband, I'll maintain you brave;
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As for Gold and Silver, you shall have good store,
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If you'll fancy a Blacksmith and a Widower,
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That does love you dearly, & would venter his Life
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For to make you Happy, if you'll be his Wife;
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What tho' I'm a Blacksmith, I have Gold good store,
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My Dear pity me, and your Frowns now give o're:
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Tho' Forty Years of Age I am, it is true,
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There is none in the World I can fancy but you.
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Therefore, dearest Creature, be not too unkind,
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But let your poor Blacksmith some pity now find;
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And do not so Cruel resolve for to prove,
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But grant me some pity and hopes of your Love;
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But if that so unkind you resolve to be,
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Farewel, unkind Maiden, I hear Die for ye.
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Then from her he went with a sorrowful heart,
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The wound which he felt from a powerful dart,
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Did cause him to weep, and continually cry,
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My life is a pain, I am willing to did:
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My dearest she slights me because of my trade,
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At every word she with scorn does upbrade
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A Blacksmith, and this is the cause of my grief,
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And now I must die without hope of relief.
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Farewel to my Dearest, the cause of my woe;
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Farewel to the World, to my Chamber I'll go,
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And there I will weep out the rest of my days,
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For I am tormented a Million of ways.
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FINIS.
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