A Word in Season:
OR,
Now or Never.
Tis ner too late to be advised well
Regard it then you Beauties that excel
Both in external and internal parts
And do not triumph over Captive hearts:
Least you ingrateful being left to time
Bereft of Charmes, be punisht that black Crime.
A pleasant new Tune, of Sweet use your time, etc.
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SWeet use your time, abuse your time
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no longer, but be wise,
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Yo[u]r Lovers now discover you,
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have Beauty to be prizd;
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But if your coy youl lose the joy,
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so curst will be the fate;
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The Flower will fade, youl die a Maid,
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and mourn your Chance too late.
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At Thirteen years, and Fourteen years,
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a Virgins Heart may range;
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Twixt Fifteen years and Fifty years
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youl find a wondrous change.
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Then whilst in Tune, in May or June,
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let Love and Youth agree;
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For if you stay till Christmas day
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the Devil shall wooe for me.
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For then Loves fire it will expire,
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and Beauty be no more;
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You of each Charm Love will disarm,
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though now, tis true, youve store.
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O then be wise, and be not nice,
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lest coyness does undoe you:
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Those Blushes hide that have defyd
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the passions that pursue you.
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Away with folly, come be jolly,
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shame not your Creation,
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For we were made in love to trade,
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Love is our cheif Vocation.
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Time is hasting, Beautys wasting,
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grasp the happy moment;
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Do not shun and be undone,
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rashly be not so bent.
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The blushing Rose, your Cheeks disclose
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and Lillyes that are blooming,
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Though fragrant now to time must bow,
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which all things is consuming,
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Each windy blast does Beauty wast
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which gone your hopes are lost
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Then dont disdain a Lovers flame
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least you at last are crost.
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Proud Beauties still do want their will
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when kind ones have content
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Tis fate does blind th ambitious mind
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and makes it oft repent:
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Your Virgin-prime then use in time
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send bashful fear away
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Let not a blush destroy your wish
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but Loves loud call obey.
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Least the youth to tell you truth
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grows angry by delay,
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And you are forcd to be divorcd
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from pleasures many a day
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You are deceived if tis believed
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tis alwayes in your power
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To be beloved, which many ave proved
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in an unlucky hour.
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For cruelty makes passion dye
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ambition is its grave
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Like wandring fires, it still retires
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whilst you your selves deceive,
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With hopes your chaine does strong remain
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with which you linkd our hearts
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But it does prove too weak for Love
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when scornd for its deserts.
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Open your eyes then and be wise
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[if you woud] happy be
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If joyes youd tast that never wast
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let youth and Love agree
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Tis past dispute, age does not suite
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with Love, nor can it strive
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With due desire to rouse that fire
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which keeps the word alive.
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Then use your time pass not your prime
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but with inchanting smiles
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And killing eyes our heart surprise
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but taken in your toiles,
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Be full as free to Love as we
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to make your bliss compleat
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Then joyes will flow which those ner know
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who coyly make retreat.
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