DICK the Plow-man
Turn'd Doctor.
OR, The Love-Sick Maiden Cured.
Shewing how a Country Maid in Kent fell in love with her Fellow-Servant Dick the Plow-
man, and how he Cured her of her Sick Distemper, etc.
To the Tune of, O Mother Roger, etc.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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YOu Maidens all of London City,
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pray come nigh, and lend an ear;
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And th' event of this my Ditty,
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to you all I'le make appear:
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'Tis such a one will make you smile,
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make you smile, make you smile,
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Then pray Maidens stay a while,
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Some to hear't would come a Mile,
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But your hopes I'll not beguile,
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Nor your expectation spoil.
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Near Rochester in Kent there lived
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a brave Lass whose name was Bess,
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Such a Prank you ne'r did hear of,
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as to you I will express:
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'Tis such a one will make you smile,
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make you smile, make you smile,
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Then pray Maidens stay a while,
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Some to hear't would come a Mile;
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But your hopes I'll not beguile,
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Nor your expectation spoil.
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Now this Maid was brisk and merry,
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and had all things to content;
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Hold! I do forget to tell ye,
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there was something that ill went.
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To be short, Sir, this is it,
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this is it, this is it,
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That this Maid was very sick,
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Very, very, very Sick:
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Sick indeed, but pray for what,
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Oh! for something Dick has got.
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NOw Dick the Plow-man he was busie
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and this Maid was sham'd to ask,
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Yet she thought with prithee, prithee,
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for to win him at the last;
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But this was no perfect Cure,
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perfect Cure, perfect Cure,
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For her grief encreased more,
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More then e're it did before:
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And sick she was, but pray for what,
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Oh! for something Dick had got.
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One Day when Dick was very jolly,
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and as he was d[r]iving Plow;
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Then he spy'd her melancholly,
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ah! says Dick, how do you now.
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Ah! quoth she, I'm very sick,
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very sick, very sick;
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O, what shall I do, my Dick,
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I am very, very sick,
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Sick, says Dick, I pray for what,
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O, for something you have got.
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And Dick, 'tis you can only Cure me,
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prithee do't before you go;
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Good now Richard, pray assure me,
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whether you will, aye or no:
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My dear Richard, don't deny,
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neither from your promise flye;
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For my grievous malady,
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You can Cure immediately;
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Then pray now Richard, give me that
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I need not name it, you know what.
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Prethee Betty how should I know,
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what the thing is that you mean;
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Then she sighed, and cry'd Hi-ho,
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such a Fool was nev[e]r seen:
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I must languish here and dye,
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here and dye, here and dye;
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And can't have a Remedy,
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For my grievous mallady;
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Was ever there so dull a Sot,
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That knows not yet what he has got.
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When they had understood each other,
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Dick for joy did leave his Plow;
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Gave his Whip unto his Brother,
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and he Swore he'd Cure her now.
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Then unto her straight he goes,
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and his skill to her he shows;
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Brisk and blith she then became,
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As anyone upon the Plain:
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Now Maids you see what Dick can do,
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then try if he can Cure you too.
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