THE
Young Lass's Lamentation:
CONTAINING HER
Melancholy Moan for the loss of her Maiden-head.
To which is added,
The Young MAN's Answer; concluding with his kind Promise, in helping her to a Husband to make
her Amends. To the Tune of, Fond Boy.
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I Am a young damsel this day in distress,
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Who has a sad sorrowful tale to express,
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And therefore good people pray hear my complaint:
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Young Thomas the baker I took for a saint;
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But since I did let him once tickle my geer,
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He leaves me to sigh and shed many a tear.
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At first he did love me, and kindness did show,
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Now who would have thought he'd served me so!
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I thought my self sure, I'd a laid my sweet life,
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That he had intended to make me his wife,
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Had I not believ'd it, as sure as I am here,
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Young Thomas should never have tickled my geer.
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I gave him a tast of the pleasure of night,
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In hopes to alure him with love and delight,
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And that he should think me a heaven of charms,
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When melting he lay in my languishing arms.
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For this very reason, as sure as I am here,
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I suffer'd young Thomas to tickle my geer.
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My maiden-head's gone, and 'ifaith let it go,
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For now I am eased of that burthen you know;
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Some journey-man shoemaker, friends I may wed,
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Who never had skill in a true maiden-head.
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He'll count me a virgin, and call me his dear,
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Though Thomas the baker first tickled my geer.
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I tell thee, sweet creature, it is but in vain,
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In sorrowful tears thus to sign and complain;
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For as I am here, a true baker by trade,
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Whoever I marry she shall be a Maid.
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But since you before-hand was free to be try'd,
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You must not expect for to be my sweet bride.
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I love a young Lass that is vertuous and wise,
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But she that is wanton, I hate and despise;
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Perhaps I the minute of pleasure may take,
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And when that is over, the lass I forsake.
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Though you may intreat me. your sute is deny'd;
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No lass that is wanton shall e'er be my bride.
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I courted you once for the fountain of bliss,
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The which was deny'd me no more than a kiss;
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Now finding that you was before-hand so kind,
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I straightways concluded to alter my mind.
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I thought you right vertuous before I had try'd,
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But now I do tell you, you shant be my bride.
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'Tis like I may do you what kindness I can,
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To help you e're long to some innocent man,
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A husband with silver and gold in his purse,
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Who freely will take you for better for worse.
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What he never see love, his heart will not rue,
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And so at the present sweet creature adieu.
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