THE Passionate Maid of ROCHESTER: GIVING An Account of a Damzel who Poyson'd herself for Love of a Ship-car- penter; but repenting what she had done, with Oil, she expell'd the Poyson, and then was Married to the Man she admir'd. To the Tune of, The Milking-pail. Licensed according to Order.
|
YOu pretty young Lasses all,
|
Come readily at my call,
|
And as you draw near,
|
Be pleas'd to give ear,
|
For tell you the truth I shall,
|
At Rochester there
|
Did live, I declare,
|
A pretty youthful Maid;
|
By all above,
|
This tender Dove,
|
She fell in Love,
|
The Man did prove,
|
A Ship-carpenter by Trade.
|
Sweet Creature he often cry'd,
|
Oh! let me not be deny'd,
|
For as I protest,
|
I am not in jest,
|
I'll make thee my lawful Bride;
|
No Beauty before,
|
I e're could adore,
|
Then crown me with content;
|
This Carpenter,
|
Thus courted her,
|
And went so far,
|
Till she cry'd, Sir,
|
I readily give consent.
|
When once he had gain'd her Heart,
|
And Cupid had shot his Dart,
|
His Vows he forgot,
|
And valu'd her not,
|
With her he could freely part;
|
This troubl'd her so,
|
That sorrow and woe
|
Did wrack her grieved mind.
|
Alas! said she,
|
How can he be
|
So false to me?
|
Now, now, I see,
|
The Carpenter's most unkind.
|
In sorrow she weeping said,
|
My innocent Heart's betray'd,
|
False Lover, I find
|
That you were design'd
|
To ruin a harmeless Maid;
|
The violent Pain,
|
In every Vein,
|
No torment can excel;
|
This Poyson strong,
|
Shall end my wrong,
|
I shall not long,
|
Sing forth this Song,
|
Ship-carpenter now farewel.
|
When she had the Poyson took,
|
She did not the least abrook:
|
Now Death being near,
|
She trembl'd for fear,
|
And search'd with a careful look;
|
Then in a short while,
|
A Bottle of Oil,
|
She found, that was set by,
|
And close cork't up;
|
Strait e'ry sup,
|
Without a cup,
|
She swallow'd up,
|
As being not free to dye.
|
The Poyson she did expel;
|
Her Lover, the truth to tell,
|
Came to her again,
|
And Marry'd her then,
|
So every thing is well;
|
In Rochester they
|
Are living this day,
|
As I the truth have penn'd;
|
With him she blest,
|
Her Heart's at rest,
|
For I protest,
|
Amongst the rest,
|
The Bottle was her good Friend.
|
|
|
|
|
|