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