The Covetous Mother, Or, The terrible Overthrow of Two Loyal Lovers. You that these woful tydings hear, surely your hearts may bleed; Who can forbear to shed a tear, when they these lines shall read? Tune of, O so ungrateful a creature. This may be printed, R.P.
|
THere was a wealthy young Squire,
|
whom a fair Damosel did love;
|
Nay, and it was so intire,
|
nothing his fancy could move:
|
She born of ordinary Parents.
|
which when his Friends this did know,
|
They strove to set them at variance,
|
proving their sad overthrow.
|
Son, said his indulgent Mother,
|
may you now listen to me;
|
I have consider'd another
|
suitable to your degree;
|
That you may rise to promotion,
|
she is both virtuous and fair,
|
Two thousand pound to her Portion;
|
therefore your folly forbear.
|
Mother, those Charms does inflame me
|
which in my Dear I behold;
|
Therefore I pray do not blame me,
|
True Love is better than Gold.
|
Might I have Wealth out of measure,
|
nothing my mind can remove;
|
I'le never marry for Treasure,
|
give me the Creature I love.
|
I can maintain like a Lady
|
she whom I much do adore;
|
Have I not Riches already?
|
what need I covet for more?
|
If you give me not one penny,
|
I have a Hundred a Year:
|
Now if I marry with any,
|
it shall be Nancy my Dear.
|
Son, if your Love be so rooted
|
that from her you cannot part,
|
By me it shan't be disputed,
|
take her then with all my heart.
|
But she in this was deceitful,
|
as by this Ditty you'l find,
|
Never was action more hateful,
|
Malice remain'd in her mind.
|
Straight she repair'd to this Creature,
|
vowing to send her away;
|
Yet with a smile she did meet her,
|
saying, dear Daughter this day
|
We will go buy your Attire,
|
everything i'le provide;
|
'Tis my unfeigned desire,
|
that you shall be my Sons Bride.
|
Thus was the matter contrived,
|
just as his Mother would have;
|
Then to a Captain in private
|
she sold her to be a Slave:
|
She from Old England did send her,
|
fill'd with much sorrow and woe;
|
There was no Soul to defend her,
|
but was compelled to go.
|
When her invention was over,
|
then she return'd to her Son,
|
Freely to him to discover,
|
presently what she had done:
|
When he heard what she had acted,
|
his Rapier straight he pull'd forth.
|
Ravlike one quite distracted,
|
crying, you've ruin'd us both.
|
Then on the point of his Rapier
|
he did immediately fall;
|
His Life did go out like a Taper,
|
this was the ruine of all.
|
His Mother more than uncivil,
|
was of a covetous mind:
|
Money the Root of all evil
|
caus'd this confusion we find.
|
Now does his Mother with weeping
|
weary out many a day;
|
While her dear Son he lies sleeping
|
low in a cold Bed of Clay.
|
This is a sad Desolation,
|
she whom he much did adore,
|
Now is sent far from the Nation,
|
where she will ne'r see him more.
|
|
|
|
|
|