The Doting Old DAD,
OR,
The Unequal Match betwixt a Rich Muckworm of Fourscore and Ten, and
a Young Lass scarce Nineteen.
When Dads thus Old, whose Blood is cold,
young Damsels seek to Wed;
For their neglect, they may expect
Horns grafted on their Head.
To the Tune of, All Trades. This may be Printed, R.P.
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THere was a young Damsel of late,
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was Woo'd by a Dad very Old,
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He had a right worthy Estate,
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besides store of Silver and Gold:
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His Service he proffer'd her then,
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yet he was as pale as a Ghost,
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He being full Fourscore and Ten,
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and she was but Nineteen at most:
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But ever when he drew nigh,
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the Damsel would straight reply;
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I'le never have you, for what can you do?
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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Although I am wrinckled and Lean,
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yet I will be loving to thee,
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And deck thee as fine as a Queen,
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if thou wilt be Marry'd to me:
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Both Silver and Gold I have store,
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and yet though thy Portion is small,
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If I had a thousand times more,
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yet you shou'd be Mistris of all:
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But ever when he drew nigh,
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the Damsel would straight Reply,
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I'le never have you, for what can you do?
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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I tell thee my amorous Girl,
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if that thou wilt be but my Bride,
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I'le give thee Rich Jewels and Pearl,
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and twenty new Nick-knacks beside:
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A Tower and Top-knot so fine,
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a Mask and a delicate Fan;
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O tell me now wilt thou be mine,
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endeavour to love an Old Man:
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But ever when he, etc.
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He proffer'd her still to advance her,
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but thus with Discretion, said she,
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You're Old enough to be my Grandsir,
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and therefore no Husband for me:
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For when I behold your bald Pate,
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and stragling Hairs white and gray,
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O then at a sorrowful rate,
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I weeping and sighing, shall say:
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O what a hard Fortune have I,
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though Marry'd, a Maiden must dye:
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The more is my grief, I see no relief,
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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Now hearing the Damsels intent,
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and finding he could not prevail,
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Away to her Mother he went,
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and told her a pittiful Tale:
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Your Daughter she is in a rage,
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and all my kind proffers won't heed,
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Besides, she despises my Age,
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which ought to be Honour'd indeed:
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For when to her I draw nigh,
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she makes this strange Reply;
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I'le never have you, for what can you do?
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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She straight for her Daughter did send,
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before the Old Man went away,
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In duty she straight did attend,
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to hear what her Mother would say:
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My Daughter, you will understand,
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that he has good Treasure enuff,
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In Money, nay, Cattel and Land,
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with abundance of good Houshold-stuff:
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Then Daughter tell me but why,
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you will not freely comply?
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Said she, he is Old, his Blood it is cold,
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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Her Mother did hear her therefore,
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she straightway did call her aside,
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You know he has Riches great store,
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and therefore you must be his Bride:
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And as for the pleasure of Youth,
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if he can't get Daughter or Son,
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Believe me, I'de have you, in truth,
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do e'ne as your Mother has done:
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For when my Old Dad would deny,
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to yield me a daily supply,
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I still had a Friend my Will to attend,
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for fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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Thus you may your sorrows relieve,
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although an Old Fumblers Wife,
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It is easie to make him believe
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you love him as dear as your life:
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You need not his Jealousie dread,
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if that you will make but each night
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A Cordial, and put him to Bed,
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then kiss with a Gallant all night:
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For Daughter, I cannot deny,
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but Wives may want a supply,
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Which if it be so, abroad we must go,
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for fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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The Damsel she gave her Consent,
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and they the next morning was Wed[,]
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The day was in Merriment spent,
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at length they did hurry to Bed:
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And then said the Feeble Old Man,
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thy fancy I'de willingly feed,
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But can do no more than I can,
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accept of the Will for the Deed.
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In Bed he Grunting doth lye,
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which makes her often Reply,
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I still am a Maid, and shall be, she said,
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O fie upon Fumblers, fie.
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