The Dumb MAID:
OR, THE
Young GALLANT Trappan'd.
A young Man did unto her a Wooing come,
But she pretended much that she was Dumb;
But when they both in Marriage-bands were ty'd,
The Doctor's Skill was likewise with her try'd;
The Doctor he set her Tongue on the Run,
She Chatters now, and never will have done.
To a new Tune, call'd, Dum, dum, dum: or, I would I were in my own Country, etc.
Licens'd and Enter'd according to Order.
|
ALl you that p[a]ss along,
|
Give ear unto my Song,
|
Concerning a Youth
|
that was young, young, you[n]g;
|
And of a Maiden fair,
|
Few with her might compare,
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
She was beautious, fresh, and gay,
|
Like the pleasant Flowers in May,
|
And her cheeks was as round
|
as a plum, plum, plum;
|
She was neat in every part,
|
And she stole away his Heart;
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
At length this Country Blade,
|
Wedded this pretty Maid,
|
And he kindly conducted
|
her home, home, home,
|
Thus in her Beauty bright,
|
Lay all his whole Delight;
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
Now will I plainly show
|
What work this Maid could do,
|
Which a Pattern may be,
|
for Girls young, young, young;
|
O she both day and night,
|
In working took delight;
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
She could brew, and she could bake,
|
She could wash, wring, and shake,
|
She could sweep the House
|
with a broom, broom, broom:
|
She could knit, and sow, and spin,
|
And do any such like thing;
|
But alack, and alas, she
|
was dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
But at last this Man did go,
|
The Doctor's Skill to know,
|
Saying, Sir, can you cure
|
a Woman of the Dumb?
|
O it is the easiest part,
|
That belongs unto my Art,
|
For to cure a Woman
|
of the dumb, dumb, dumb.
|
To the Doctor he did her bring,
|
And h[e] cut her Chattering-string,
|
And he set her Tongue on
|
the run, run, run:
|
In the morning he did rise,
|
And she fill'd his House with cries,
|
And she rattled in his ears
|
like a drum, drum, drum.
|
To the Doctor he did go,
|
With his heart well fill'd with woe,
|
Crying, Doctor, I am
|
undone, done, done;
|
Now she's turn'd a scolding Wife,
|
And I am weary of my life,
|
Nor I cannot make her hold
|
her tongue, tongue, tongue.
|
The Doctor thus did say,
|
When she went from me away,
|
She was perfectly cured of
|
the dumb, dumb, dumb:
|
But it's beyond the Art of Man,
|
Let him do the best he can,
|
For to make a scolding Woman
|
hold her tongue, tongue, tongue.
|
So as you to me came,
|
Return you back again,
|
And take you the Oyl
|
of Hazel strong;
|
With it anoint her Body round;
|
When she makes the House to sound,
|
So perhaps you may charm her
|
tongue, tongue, tongue.
|
|
|
|
|
|