The Young-womans Complaint: OR, A Caveat to all Maids to have a care how they be Married to Old Men. The Tune is, What should a young woman do with an old man, etc. Or, The Tyrant.
|
COme all you young damsels
|
both beauteous and free,
|
Ile Summon you all
|
to listen to mee;
|
A Song of misguiding,
|
concerning my Marriage,
|
Sorrows the cause of
|
this my ill carriage;
|
A Maiden of fifteen
|
as it may appear
|
She Married an Old-man
|
of Seventy-two year;
|
And by her misfortune
|
well prove it I can,
|
That she is sore troubled
|
with an Old-man.
|
When he sits down by me,
|
heel presently blame me,
|
He often doth chide me
|
and threatens to lame me;
|
Then fain would I hide me
|
but cannot tell where.
|
He calls me young Giglet,
|
and sometimes bold whore;
|
But hold thy tongue man,
|
for I am none such,
|
I dare not call Cuckold
|
though I think as much:
|
She throws by her Bracelets
|
her Hat and her Fan,
|
Sing cursd be the time
|
that I saw this Old-man.
|
To speak of his Livings
|
his Land or his Fee,
|
Or of his Relations
|
too tedious twill bee;
|
His humping, his grumping
|
his cursing, and swearing,
|
Hes almost quite blind,
|
and heard of his hearing,
|
His Pate it is bauld, and
|
his Beard it is thin,
|
His Breath it doth stink,
|
and short is his thing:
|
And now let him do
|
what ever he can,
|
Judge if it be fitting
|
to love this Old-man.
|
In Bed as I lye,
|
he groaneth he cryeth
|
Like one that is dyeing
|
in sorrow he lyeth:
|
Instead of Loves blisses
|
he scraches and grumbles
|
And all the night long
|
he tosses and tumbles,
|
And lying and dyeing
|
and telling the Clock,
|
Weeping and wailing,
|
expecting a Knock:
|
And wiping away her
|
tears as they ran,
|
What shall a young woman
|
do with this old man.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, to the same Tune.
|
HE stoops in the shoulders
|
and goes almost double
|
He is alwayes to me
|
a continual trouble,
|
His Breast it sticks forth
|
even almost withs snout,
|
He seldom goes far without
|
letting a rout,
|
His hands they do shake,
|
and hes very lame,
|
And all his whole body is
|
quite out of frame,
|
His Nose it is long, and
|
his face pale and wan.
|
With all the ill properties
|
of an Old man.
|
When he walks abroad with me
|
sometimes in the street
|
He limps, and he stumbles,
|
the boys they do seet,
|
And laugh him to scorn,
|
he creeps and he grumbles,
|
He coughs and he spits,
|
and at last he down tumbles
|
Then I cry and lament
|
that ere I was born.
|
But to quit his love, ile
|
make him wear the horn;
|
For let me do what
|
ever I may or can,
|
I still shall be plagud
|
with this doting old man.
|
If I with some young-men
|
do chance for to meet,
|
And do but them freindly
|
and courteously greet,
|
Then he begins presently
|
to scold and brawl,
|
And a thousand base names
|
he then will me call,
|
Which makes me with greif
|
and sorrow lament,
|
And now its too late
|
I fear to repent:
|
But ile get a Youngster that
|
please me well can,
|
Then a fig for this doting
|
feeble old man.
|
I forcd was to marry him
|
cause of his Wealth,
|
But ile have another now,
|
and then by stealth:
|
For with him I must never
|
expect any joy;
|
Which vexes me worst
|
I shall nere have a boy;
|
Therefore Im resolvd to
|
live merry and jolly,
|
And take the best course
|
to quite Melancholly.
|
For what should a young-wo-man
|
do with this old man
|
But make him a Cuckold
|
as soon as she can
|
Theres young men enough,
|
which will make much of me
|
And I unto them will be
|
gallant and free:
|
Theyl court me and kisse
|
and please me full well,
|
And I will not want it,
|
the truth I you tell;
|
His Chests Ile set open,
|
his money let fly,
|
For Ile lead a merry life,
|
until I dye.
|
What should a young-woman
|
do with this old man,
|
But make him a Cuckold
|
as soon as she can.
|
My advice is to you all
|
Maids that are young,
|
That you get you Husband,
|
that will you not wrong,
|
For sure youth with age
|
will never agree,
|
As by this Ditty you
|
plainly may see;
|
Therefore take you warning
|
all by my miscarriage,
|
Be sure to be wise in
|
your choice of Marriage:
|
For Ile assure you,
|
do what you can,
|
You never can love such,
|
an Old doting man.
|
|
|
|
|