An Excellent New SONG,
CALL'D,
Rare News for the Female Sex,
OR,
Good Luck at last.
Tune of, The Scotch Haymakers.
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AS I of late was walking by a Country Bakers door
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I heard some Women talking, near 27 or more,
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Then one among the rest, crying, now I do protest,
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Of all the news I ever heard I think this is the best,
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I long'd to hear what this good news might be,
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She scarce could speak for laughing, but at the last quod she,
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Come Maids be of good chear, for joyful News I hear.
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Now ery Lass that means to pass must all be punchd this year.
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Oh this is joyful News said the Bakers daughter Nan,
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Tho fifteen years I've lived yet never any Man
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Would be so kind to me as to punch me well said she,
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Or from the torment which I bear would ever set me free,
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For whats a greater Plague then a heavy Maidenhead
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And must I still endure it I'd rather sure be dead,
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Since this good Neews I hear my heart is void of fear
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Nor friend nor foe shall say me no for I'll be punchd this Year.
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The Farmer's Daughter Joan stood moulding of her bread,
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Said she good NeighBour Nancy no more words to be said,
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You complain in 15 year of the torment which you bear,
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I'm almost 30 ist not dirty men should mock & jeer,
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And ask us when we'l marry, alass how do we know,
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When they are pleas'd to call us then we are free to go,
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And since this news I hear, I'le send to Dick my dear,
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And once again Ile tell him plain I must be punchd this Year.
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The Taylors daughter Betty cry'd its a burning shame
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Though I am young and pretty my sorrow is the same,
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My Father keeps Five Men, but what if he kept Ten,
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Such silly fools with pointless tools, can never punch me then
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Unto some lusty Farmer with speed I must repair,
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And tell to him the cause of my sorrow, grief, and care,
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Then he with merry cheer, will vanish all my fear
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And I as well as other Maids sure shall be puncht this Year.
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Then in came lusty Sarah who lived at the Crown,
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Saying, I'm as brisk and airy as any lass in Town,
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My Friends was at great charge in breeding me so large:
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To pass away my youthful day d'ye think it don't me urg.
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I'm Punchable 'tis known, my Marygold is blown,
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Come Souldier Sailor or a Taylor take me for your own,
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Let Mother draw the Beer, and Father in his Chair,
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For ile no longer draw their drink if i'm not puncht this year.
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And said aged Gillian, tho' I am old and weak,
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Yet Neighbours I am willing a word or two to speak,
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My beauty is decay'd by living long a Maid,
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And this I tell that Apes in Hell I must lead I'm afraid
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Accept of my Petition and let me have a share,
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I'm forced with submission my sorrow to declare,
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Then do not flout nor jear, for since this news I hear;
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My maiden head will strike me dead if I'm not puncht this year.
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The Baker's daughter Nancy and all the reft reply'd,
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What man alive can fancy to make of you a bride,
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And therefore pray forbear your sorrow to declare,
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Yet if there's any rusty Punch that we can freely spare,
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We'll see what we can do, and be a friend to you.
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I hope you will said she so my Neighbors all adieu,
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And thereupon each one departed and went home.
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With joint consent to be content now punching time is come.
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But one there was among them that they did think too young
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And as they all went dancing she likewise had her Song
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What tho you flout at me [cause] that I am young you see
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For all you hunch yet Ile be punch'd that currant I may be,
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For I am thirteen it is well known
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And why maint I good Sirs than be punch'd as well as Joan,
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I am resolv'd I say, that I'll not loose a day,
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But straight to John my Fathers Man and be punch'd as well as they.
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