An Excellent New Song, Called,
The Politick Lovers;
OR, THE
London Merchant Outwitted.
To the Tune of, Why should not I complain on thee.
Licensed according to O[r]der.
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IN London City late did dwell
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A Merchant, rich and known full well,
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Who had a Daughter fair and young,
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With beauty bright, with beauty bright,
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and charming tongue.
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At Hackney she did board last spring,
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Only to learn to dance and sing,
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Her father he a Prentice had,
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Which was in Love, which was in Love
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with this fair maid.
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But when the father found it out,
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There was a heavy scolding Bout,
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He did command his Prentice sure,
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Never to see, never to see
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his Daughter more.
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The Prentice and his darling Dove,
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Found new ways to keep on their love,
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The secret is a pretty joke,
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T'was manag'd by, 'twas manag'd by
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the Father's Cloak.
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For when the father he did go,
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To see his Daughter you must know,
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The Prentice would a Letter poke,
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Within the Cape, within the Cape
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of''s master's Cloak.
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So when to Hackney he was got,
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The weather being something hot,
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The daughter to the father said,
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Pray give your Cloak, pray give your Cloak
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unto the maid.
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Then straightways from the Cape would they
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Her Lovers Letters soon convey,
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Wherein the Daughter she did find,
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That still her Love, that still her Love
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was true and kind.
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The Daughter writ an Answer then,
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And put it in the Cape again;
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The Father said, my Daughterdear,
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Ne're entertain, ne're entertain
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my servant here.
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The Daughter then did weeping say,
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Dear father i'll not disobey,
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Upon which words he then did cry,
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You shall have all, you shall have all
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Girl when I dye.
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But when the merchant he came back,
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The Prentice soon the Cloak did take,
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And in the Cape he straight did find,
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A Letter from, a Letter from
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his mistress kind.
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The Prentice said, Oh master pray,
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What made you thus Angry this day,
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To chide your Daughter so severe,
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And say, that I, and say, that I
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must ne're come there.
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He said, A Wizzard you must be,
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Or how could you know this by me,
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But yet when he to Hackney went,
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The Prentice still, the Prentice still
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a Letter sent.
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So when he to his Daughter came,
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she ask'd him Questions of the same.
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Which made her Father stamp and stare,
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And cry'd a Witch, and cry'd a Witch
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i'm sure you are.
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At length the Merchant, he would know,
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How 'twas his man had tidings so,
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And then he did protest and swear,
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That he should have, that he should have,
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his Daughter fair.
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The man reply'd will you not blame
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The messenger that brought the same;
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He then began to curse and ban,
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That he would ne'er, that he would ne'er
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forgive the man.
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In the Cape of your Cloak then know,
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You brought our Letters too and fro,
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Which made the Merchant smile and say,
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My Daughter you, my Daughter you
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shall wed this day.
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