The Countrey FARMER;
OR, THE
Buxome VIRGIN.
To a New Tune, called, New-Market, or King Jamess Jigg;
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THere was a brisk Lass both Bonny and Brown,
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That courted her Sweet heart, in our Town,
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She laid by her work, her wheel, and Yarn,
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To find out her love in the Farmers Barn,
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Quoth she, if thou wilt be married,
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Wel high to the Priest, then to bed,
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My Virgin Treasure ile give thee Ned,
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That is to be plain my Maiden-head.
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You know that my love is a Flame of Fire,
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And burns when it cannot obtain desire,
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My Beauty is now in its bloom and prime,
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And I cannot, nor wonnot delay the time:
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I long for to taste of those tender joys,
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Those soft Kisses, and wanton Toys,
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That every Maid in her Wedding enjoys,
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When Lasses with Lovers get lusty Boys.
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A Garland of Flowers my love shall wear,
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And ile give him a lock of my coal-black-hair,
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At every Wake my love ile treat,
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And ile give him kind busses as Cream-Bowls sweet;
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Thou shalt be my Buck and ile be thy Doe,
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And ile Milk, and thou shalt mowe,
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Ile Card, and ile Spin, while you Harrow and sowe
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And call upon Dobbin with Hey-ge-woe.
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Quoth Ned, for your Love I take no care,
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But busie my self with my Plow, and Mare.
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Young Cupid I think is a lazy Loon,
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And besides I intend for to marry Joan?
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Quoth Nell, as for Joan she will never Wed,
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She lies like an Eunuch in her dull Bed,
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Shes ugly, and Old, looks paler then Lead,
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Not like a Brisk Lass of a Woman bred.
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Young Colin upon Martillas Cheeks
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A thousand delightful pleasures seeks,
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He kisses her oft by her own good-will,
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And will scarcely once let her all night lye still:Come touch but my lips, with those lips of thine,
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They are all melting, and all divine,
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Like Grapes that appear on the Springing Vine,
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As plump, and as soft, and as sweet as thine.
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My dearest quoth Ned, ile but clout my shoone,
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And we will be Married before tis noone:Ile go to the Church and a License bring,
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And buy thee a dainty fine Golden Ring:Ile give thee to ride on my pacing Roan,
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With the Grey Pillian I lent to Joan,
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Ah! waies me poor Jugg, how will she make moan,
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That Fate has designd her to lye alone.
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While Jugg feels the pains of Cupids Dart,
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That wounds the breast of each Lovers heart,
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Shel sit and shel sigh upon the Plain,
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And rehearse her disloyal Shepherds name,
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While thee my dear Gill in my arms ile hugg,
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And hide thee in the soft Sheet and Rugg,
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Poor Joan shall look pale, that never lookt smugg,
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Adieu to my gentle sweet Jugg-Jugg-Jugg.
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Though Juggy be crusty what need I care,
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For she may have Lovers enough to spare,
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But now she is lately so sower grown,
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She minds not the young-men that make their mo[an]
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Yet lusty for Life, and full of good will,
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I was yesterday, so I am still,
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Ile bring all my Grist to my true Lovers Mill,
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And hugg and make much of my Gill, Gill, Gill.
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FINIS.
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