THE GOODHURST Garland. In THREE PARTS. PART I.
|
A Sailor courted a Farmer's Daughter,
|
whose Living was in the wild of Kent,
|
But mark, I pray, what follow'd after,
|
He waited long e'er she gave Consent.
|
By constant courting, and strange reporting,
|
Strange Things concerning the Ocean wide,
|
Said he, my Sweeting, at this bless'd Meeting,
|
O give Consent to be my Bride.
|
I must acknowledge I do adore thee,
|
with all the tender Respects of Love;
|
None ever conquer'd my Heart before thee,
|
whom I admire, and prize above
|
The richest Jewel; then be not cruel,
|
But lay that angry Frown aside.
|
And my dear Sweeting, etc.
|
She said, a Sailor I don't admire;
|
because they travel to foreign Parts.
|
The more our Company they desire,
|
the more they leave us with aching Hearts.
|
And we lament with sad Vexation,
|
wherefore I beg you'll be satisfy'd.
|
But my dear Sweeting, etc.
|
Be not disturb'd at that vain Notion;
|
for I'll not often afflict thee so:
|
Once more I count to sail the Ocean;
|
because, my Love, I'm oblig'd to go;
|
For to serve the Nation, in this my Station,
|
which e'er 'tis long I will lay aside.
|
But my dear Sweeting, etc.
|
After the Death of my loving Mother
|
I shall be bless'd with a fair Estate;
|
And thee, dear Jewel, above all other,
|
I have made Choice of to be my Mate.
|
Let me but gain thee, and I'll maintain thee,
|
with Joy and Pleasure on every Side.
|
And now my Sweeting, etc.
|
Tho' I look like a private Sailor,
|
yet ne'ertheless I declare, my Dear,
|
My Father was a Merchant-Taylor,
|
and left me Sevenscore Pounds a Year.
|
A fair Beginning; Silks, Lace and Linnen,
|
for thee, my Jewel, I will provide.
|
And now my Sweeting, etc.
|
When once I come to the Possession
|
of my Inheritance, never fear,
|
But I'll account it best Discretion,
|
in staying at Home with you, my Dear.
|
With Peace and Pleasure, in mid'st of Treasure,
|
taking Leave of the Ocean wide.
|
And now my Sweeting, etc.
|
When he had told her this pleasing Story,
|
she had no Power to say him nay;
|
Thinking herself in the Height of Glory,
|
she to the Sailor thus did say,
|
Thou'st gain'd my Favour and Love forever,
|
therefore, Dearest, be satisfy'd.
|
But my dear, etc.
|
Quoth he, my Promise shall not be broken,
|
as long as I have a Day to live;
|
And take this Ring as a faithful Token,
|
which as a faithful Pledge I give.
|
I'll wed thee fairly, and love thee dearly,
|
when I return from the Ocean wide.
|
To thee, dear, etc.
|
|
|
|
|
PART II.
|
UNto his Mother it was reported,
|
before he could get on Board,
|
That he a Farmer's Daughter courted,
|
whose Parents could not afford
|
To give a Portion. At this strange Notion
|
his Mother to him in a Passion run;
|
Saying, forsake her, if wife you make her,
|
I'll never own you to be my Son.
|
What, will you take one with never a Penny,
|
a Farmer's Daughter, as I am told;
|
Tho' you have got the Choice of many,
|
both Birth, and Breeding, and Store of Gold.
|
In London City, methinks 'tis Pity
|
my Riches should thus to Ruin run.
|
I pray, forsake her, etc.
|
There's Mrs. Susan, of charming Beauty,
|
who has Five Hundred Pound, I know:
|
I charge you, therefore, upon your Duty,
|
that you a wooing to her go.
|
Please you your Mother, and quit the other;
|
why should my treasure to Ruin go?
|
I pray, forsake her, etc.
|
You may have Nancy, Williams Cousin,
|
a youthful Damsel, of Beauty bright:
|
Nay, I could mention at least a Dozen
|
who in your Company take Delight.
|
Cannot these please you? does Madness seize you?
|
How! Are you willing to be undone?
|
I pray, forsake her, if wife you make her,
|
I'll never own you to be my Son.
|
What makes you in a Passion, Mother?
|
I needs must own you're come too late:
|
I love my Jewel above all other
|
who can be brought, altho' ne'er so great;
|
For she's a Jewel, a Fig for Riches,
|
she has my kind Affections won;
|
Ill ne'er forsake her, but a wife make her,
|
tho' you disown me, etc.
|
I ever honour'd my tender Parents;
|
and this I hope that I can prove;
|
Then do not threaten to be at Variance,
|
because I'd marry the girl I love.
|
Altho' you flout, abhor, and hate me,
|
I'll finish what I so well begun;
|
I'll ne'er forsake her, but a wife make her,
|
tho' you disown me, etc.
|
Fair youthful Beauties are often winning,
|
and Mens fond Hearts are soon betray'd.
|
Dear Mother, think of your beginning,
|
my father took you a Servant-Maid.
|
Then don't despise her, I mean to raise her,
|
as my Father you before has done;
|
I'll ne'er forsake her, but my wife make her,
|
tho' you disown me, etc.
|
These eight long Years I've sail'd the Ocean,
|
and then for Love to her did go:
|
I never ask'd after her Fortune,
|
she may have Riches for ought I know;
|
But have or have not, she is my Lot,
|
I joy to think her Love I've won;
|
I'll ne'er forsake her, but my wife make her,
|
tho' you disown me, etc.
|
The Farmer's Daughter I've been courting,
|
tho' I should wed her out of Hand:
|
You can [?] hinder me of my Fortune,
|
as being Heir to my Father's Land.
|
When I that Blessing shall have in possessing,
|
I will never travel, as I have done;
|
With her I'll tarry, and soon will marry,
|
tho' you disown me, etc.
|
The Sailor's Mother, like one distracted,
|
she smote her Breast, and tore her Hair:
|
Saying, since he hath such Love contracted,
|
she'd never be in his Presence more,
|
He said, dear Mdther, your Passion smother,
|
since I cannot from my Promise run;
|
I'll ne'er forsake her, but a wife make her,
|
tho' you disown me to be your Son.
|
|
|
|
|
PART III.
|
THE Farmer hearing of this Confusion,
|
And that his Daughter's was slighted so
|
By his rash Mother, then in Conclusion
|
he let this jolly Sailor know,
|
That if he'd tarry at home and marry,
|
a spacious Farm he'd give him free;
|
For Plouging, Sowing, Reaping, Mowing.
|
he had no Child in the world but she.
|
The noble Sailor soon consented,
|
to quit the troubled Ocean wide:
|
Her Friends and he were well contented,
|
she should in Pomp to his Mother's ride
|
With rich Attires, like Lords and Squires,
|
they made a tearing and splendid Show.
|
He told his Mother, he'd brought another:
|
the Farmer's Daughter she did not know.
|
Amongst a thousand of charming Faces,
|
sure the like of her you ne'er did know;
|
Her Garb was Sattin, with rich Laces,
|
and round her Neck a Chain of Gold.
|
Transparent Beauty. My Son thy Duty
|
thou hast observ'd, I needs must say:
|
Still as she view'd her, she did conclude her,
|
for to be no less than a Lady gay.
|
Next Day as soon as they were marry'd,
|
his Mother said, with a chearful Voice,
|
I'm glad all Things are so fairly carry'd.
|
I never lik'd your Farmer's Choice.
|
It would have been your Ruin, and your undoing.
|
if you had took her, I make bold to say,
|
Come, Love and Treasure brings Joy and Pleasure;
|
I am glad you wedded a Lady gay.
|
With that the brave old Farmer told her,
|
this Lady sprung from the painful Plough;
|
Altho' in Silks you do behold her,
|
yet what can you say against her now?
|
So make no Fraction, nor cause Distraction,
|
but love them both, as they may agree;
|
And do not harm her, as I am a Farmer,
|
and have no other Child but she.
|
That very Minute upon the Table
|
out of a Bag he forthwith did pour
|
Two Hundred Guineas, and said, I am able
|
for to give my Daughter as many more.
|
Which pleas'd the Mother, above all other,
|
said she, I'm glad the Knot is ty'd:
|
When first he sought her, I never thought her
|
for to be so beautiful a Bride.
|
Nothing but Joy was there between them,
|
and the Musick play'd such a chearful Sound,
|
You would have laugh'd had you seen but
|
the old wife trotting the Cheshire-Round.
|
The Farmer's Treasure brought Joy and Pleasure
|
all Grief and Sorrow they bid adieu:
|
His Mother kiss'd her, and often bless'd her,
|
you see what Silver and Gold can do.
|
|
|
|
|