THE
Coy COOK-MAID,
Who was Courted importunately by Irish-Welsh, Spa-
nish, French and Dutch, but at last was Conquered by a poor
English Taylor.
Tune of, There was a Brisk Lass, etc. Licensd according to Order.
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JOan scrubd up her Rooms, made all things clean,
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The Tables, the Chairs, and the edge of the Skreen,
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[S]he scourd each Piss-pot and Pewter-dish,
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Made ery thing clean as Heart could wish;
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The Pewter and Brass was so very clear,
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[T]hat wanting a Glass, she oft drew near
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[To d]eck up her Head, and curle her Hair;
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[No]t one amongst twenty with her could compare;
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She made her Plumb-pottage and sweet Mincd pies,
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The Roast-beef was laid down when she did rise;
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Dinner was read[y], and likd so well,
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Nor one amongst twenty could Joan excel;
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They praisd her so much that Joan grew proud,
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And then she began to prate aloud,
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I will have a Husband, oft [s]he cryd,
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A pretty young Man to lye by my side:
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Then out stept a Scot with his blew Bonnet on,
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He lookt f[u]ll as big as a Spanish Don
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His Pistol wa[s] under his cheque[r]d plade,
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His Whinyard was made of a B[il]bo blade.
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Quoth he, Bread a gad, the Days mine awn,
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Ise as bonny a fallow as ere was knawn,
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Ise will ha this Lassee before ise gang heam,
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Shel mack me gued Langke[a]l to fill my Weam.
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He came to salute her, but Jo[a]n w[a]s mad:
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And calld the poor Sco[t]ch-man a sawcy lad,
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She took up the Ladle and broke his Pate,
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And told him he profferd hi[s] Love too late
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[Deel bli]nd you, quoth Sawny, you nasty Slut,
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The muckle De'll stop Hemp in your Gut,
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[Ise naw seek] Joan to be my Wife,
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[She'l e'ne] mack me weary of my Life[,]
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[Then a fine] French-man took his Place,
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His Cr[a]vat and Ruffles were all of Lace,
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Said he, Begar me come to dis Place,
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[Me] be much in love v[i]d your sweet face,
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[Me no like] no Lady vid in dis [T]own,
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Begarr me no like dem, dey ver much frown;
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Me have seen all, me tink dere's none
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Dat may be compar'd vid Missis Joan.
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Me be resolvd to lose my Life;
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But me will have Joan to be my Wife.
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Joan lo[o]kt about her, and then replyd.
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The Devil shall be the French-mans Bride;
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March to your Portage, you sinical Knave,
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Ill ner go to France to be your Slave;
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Get you out of the Kitchin, or else by Mars,
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This swinging Spit shall run through your A---
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Poor Mounsier lookt blank, and sneakd away,
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For his Wife nor his Life he durst not stay.
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Then enter'd an Irish-man, and swore,
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The noise of her Beauty brought him o're;
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My naam ish Teague, and by my Shalvaashon,
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I prize dy Faash 'bove all in de Naashon;
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Den predee, dear Joy, come kiss my sweet Faash,
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By Shaint Phaatrick I never will leave dish Plash.
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I have a Pot[a]to-plat of my own,
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[An a shneeshing-boxh,] 'tish very well known;
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[I have a schullogue to run] by my Shide,
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[I fait and trote thou shalt] be my Bride.
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Be go[ne bogg-trotter, then Joan did cry,]
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Or [the] broom-stick shall on your shoulders lie,
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Pack up your Awle, and make short of your [story,]
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Or I'le make you pay dear [for your vain-glory.]
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A Seaman from Holland then enter'd the list,
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As drunken a Rascal as ever Pist
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[He brought in his hand a Bottle of] Nans,
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And swore 'twas the famousest liquor in France;
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'Twill make you Dutch Spraagen before it be Noon:
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Be gone (said [s]he) you drunken Clown,
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I'le pull the blew Rug from off your Pate
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If you offer to [stay] with Joan to prate.
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And then Jack Spaniard began to vapour,
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With a mighty short Cloak and a very long Rapier
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He offer'd his Service, and proudly did strut;
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But Joan went and gave him a Kick with her Foot;
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Ye [insolent] Dog (quoth she) be gone,
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There's none I hate more than a Spanish Don;
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I mean not to wait upon such a proud Sinner,
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Whilst he is a pampering his Guts at Dinner.
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The Welch-man hearing the rest was gone,
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Resolv'd that he would be with her anon,
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With Leek in his Hat, on St. Taffys Day,
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He came to Joan, and thus he did say:
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Her was a brave Shentleman in Wales,
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Her has a cood Land, cots-plutter-a-nails,
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Her has a fine Goat, and her makes Sheese,
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Was her make her a Lady if now her please,
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But Joan protested she hated them all,
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And swore to be at an English-mans Call;
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She knew their Humours, and did not doubt
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But some o[f] other would chuse her out:
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At last she married a Taylor, good Lord,
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And he the greazy Frigat did board;
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They both were well pleas'd, and kindly agreed,
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And she from the rest of her [s]uitors was freed.
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