THE
Young-Womans Answer
TO
Her Former Sweet-Heart
On board one of His Majesty's Ships, who com-
plains of her Unkindness.
Tune of, I lov'd you dearly, etc.
|
IN e'ery street I hear 'em sing
|
My Love's Complaint, who serv'd the King:
|
I went with him to the Boy i' th' Nore,
|
And could a gone all the World o're.
|
He says my Love appeared true,
|
I do declare it was so too;
|
And let his love be ne're so great,
|
Mine was as much, tho' unfortunate.
|
A Golden Chain I had of him,
|
Which I will freely return again;
|
As for my sighing when we did part,
|
'Twas from the bottom of my heart.
|
Then both of us did straight agree,
|
At his return Married to be;
|
As for his letters he sent to Town,
|
I do declare I ne're had one.
|
But now I find it (tho' too late)
|
My love complains of his hard Fate;
|
But 'tis my Father's Fault indeed,
|
He often said that you were Dead.
|
Those letters that you sent to me,
|
My Father would not let me see;
|
But always said: Child be at rest,
|
For thy Sweet-heart was slain at Brest.
|
Then he perswaded me to wed
|
To a rich Old Man that's almost dead:
|
It's true I'm Married, and am a wife,
|
I wish I'd liv'd single all my life.
|
I always lov'd a Seaman brave,
|
And once I was in hopes to have
|
Him which I now ne're expect to see;
|
You Maidens all then pity me.
|
While we are young and once in love,
|
It looks like blessings from above;
|
Yet our Friends oftentimes will make
|
Us break those Vows for Riches sake.
|
And as for Gold and Silver too,
|
I freely curse it as well as you;
|
For if that had not caus'd this strife,
|
Then you and I had been Man and Wife.
|
Altho we both are crost in love,
|
Your Resolution I'd have ye move;
|
Since now you see that fault's not mine,
|
Think not so hard on woman-kind.
|
Where one Woman is false in love;
|
A hundred Men they false do prove;
|
Tho' I lay not this charge to you,
|
Nor I hope you don't think me untrue.
|
Return, return, I beg my Dear,
|
For here are thousand Women here,
|
That are more Beautiful than I,
|
Therefore ne're go where Bullets fly.
|
'Twould be the comfort of my life,
|
To see you have a happy Wife,
|
Tho' I am crost, 'twill ease my pain,
|
To see you once return'd again.
|
|
|
|
|
|