The Forc'd Marriage.
Or, Unfortunate Celia.
When Old Fools do a wooing go to these
Who are Young-girls, they Court their cruel foes,
The Old man sees he can't prevail with tongue,
But finds t[h]at young ones, love to sport with young:
He to the Virgins Parents makes redress,
And doth the n[u]mber of his Bags express;
which takes away her Fathers heart by stealth,
He weds her not to him, but to his Wealth.
Which being done, she loaths his weak embraces,
And throws herself on Ruinous Disgraces.
Tune, Since Celia's my Foe.
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TO what great distress
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Without hopes of redress,
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I am brought
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without Thought
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of a better success.
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Poor Celia's undone,
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And all joys from her gone,
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By her Mate
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came ill fate,
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which poor she could not shun.
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My Parents unkind,
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And with wealth too much blind
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Made me marry,
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and miscarry,
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against my own mind.
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I lov'd one b[e]fore,
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But they thought him too poor,
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They forc'd me,
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and divorc'd me
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from seeing him more.
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I have now got a man
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I must love if I can,
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But I fear
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my first dear,
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I must love now and than.
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If I chance to transgress,
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As I shall you may guess,
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You may shame me,
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not blame me,
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for not loving him less.
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My Husband's a Sot,
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Deform'd, and what not,
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All Day
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He's at play,
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with his Nose o're a Pot.
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Whilst I sit at home,
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Like a poor filly Mome,
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Still crying,
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and dying,
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till my dearest doth come.
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WHen my fumbler's in bed
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& has laid down his head,
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He lies
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with clos'd eyes,
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just though he was dead.
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Why should he repine,
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If I spend store of coyn,
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to assist
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whom I list,
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in my pleasures to joyn.
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My friends are all mad,
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If at this they grow sad,
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Why did
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they forbid,
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him that I would have had.
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'Tis a dangerous disease,
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A Young woman to displease,
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Ill matching
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is catching,
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and is seldom at ease.
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I care not who knows,
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Be they friends or false foes,
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i'le Delight,
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day and night,
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in spight of their Nose.
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My first Love has my heart,
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And from him i'le ne'r start,
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though i'm wed,
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Yet in bed,
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he shall have the best part.
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If my father do chide,
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And his kindnesses hide,
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No anger
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nor danger
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my love shall divide.
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My mother does know,
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I have oft told her so,
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The old sot
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I lov'd not
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when he first came to wooe.
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'Tis a thousand to one
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That before I have done,
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i'le deceive him,
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and leave him,
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to himself all alone.
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Ile venture the fame,
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Of a scandalous name,
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Before
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i'le give o're,
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to love one of the game.
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Ile be happy and poor,
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With the man I adore,
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Since fate
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makes me hate,
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the old Fop that hath store.
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'Twas the ignorant curse,
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Of for better, for worse,
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Did me tye,
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till I die,
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to be true to his purse.
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Ile venture my lot,
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And get free from my Sot,
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Young blood
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does me good,
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now my spirits are hot.
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Let Parents conclude,
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I behave myself rude,
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Their will
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to fulfil,
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did my reason delude.
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Let each pritty Maid,
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Who hath heard what i've said,
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take care
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and beware,
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left by force she's betraid.
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Let Parents provide,
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For each daughter a Bride,
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That nothing
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Of loathing,
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their loves may divide.
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