Discontented Lady:
A New SONG much in Request.
To a New Tune much in Request at Court and the Play-House.
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I.
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HOw vile are the sordid Intreagues of the Town,
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cheating and lying perpetually sway,
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From the blue cap to the politick gown,
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a plotting and sotting they wast the day;
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All their Discourse is of Foreign Affairs,
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The French and the Wars
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Is always their Cry;
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Marriage alas! is declining,
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And I a poor Virgin lye pining,
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a Curse of their Jarring, what Luck have I.
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II.
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I thought a young Trader by ogling Charms,
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into my Conjugal Fetters to bring.
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I planted my snare too, for one that lovd Arms,
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but found his Design was another thing.
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From the Court Province down to the dull Cits,
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Both Cullies and Wits,
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Of Marriage are shye;
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Great are the Sins of the Nation,
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A Shame of the wretched Occasion,
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a curse of the Monsieurs, what Luck have I.
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III.
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A Counsellor promisd to give me a Fee,
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and swore he would make me a Lady of Sport
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But I was resolvd not a Harlot to be,
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if he could have made me Lass of the Court.
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When that he saw how I was inclind,
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And what I designd,
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He made me Reply,
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Virgins alas! are too cruel,
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Oh! be kind to me, my dear Jewel,
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a curse of your whining I then did cry.
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IV.
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The next a young Seaman, of Honour and Fame,
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he daily contrived my Love for to win;
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And swore if he could but my Favour obtain,
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great Treasure & Riches unto me hed bring:
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But when he saw that I would not yield,
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Unto him the Field,
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Unless he would wed;
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He stood like a Man was inchanted,
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Sure never was Seaman so daunted,
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because I refusd him my Maiden-head.
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V.
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Of late a young Scholar from Oxford did come,
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whom for a Husband I thought to intrap;
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But I did find him too hard to be won,
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which makes me complain at my cruel mis-hap:
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All Men alike of Marriage are shye,
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Which makes me to cry,
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A Shame of them all!
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Thus to leave Wedlock declining,
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And I a poor Virgin lye pining;
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when that my Request it is but so small.
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VI.
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The Counsellor, Soldier, and Country-man too,
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daily from Tavern to Coffee-House go;
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There they do plot and contrive what to do,
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which makes my poor Heart be so full of Woe:
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They talk of Religion, though little they have;
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But how to live brave,
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They always do strive,
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And leave a poor Virgin complaining,
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While they their Designs are obtaining,
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Sure there is no honest Men scarce alive.
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