An Answer
To the forc'd Marriage:
Or, the old mans vindication.
I Read a Song a Day or two ago,
Which says that Celia's now grown whorish too,
And makes a fine pretence because she's wed,
To one that's old, she need must wrong his bed:
I of her wantonness having suspition,
Have search'd, and found out the old mans condition;
And now I plainly see she wrongs him much,
She onely had a mind to take a touch;
With some fond foolish youngster, not for need,
For her old man as well can do the deed:
As most men can, and this may satisfie,
That Celia doth her husband much belye.
The Tune is, Celia's my Foe.
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SInce Celia's a Whore,
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I'le abide her no more,
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Let her go,
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Since I know,
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A far better in store:
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The ill luck was my own,
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That a slut I have known,
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Who scorns me,
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And horns me,
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And swears she'l be gone.
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Her Parents took care,
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That my wealth she should share,
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Crying Daughter,
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Hereafter,
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Be wise and beware.
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Though your Husband be old,
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Prethee be not too bold,
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If unkind,
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You will find,
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That his Love will grow cold.
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Methinks their advice,
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Might have made her more wise;
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Till death
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Stop'd my breath,
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And had clos'd up my eyes.
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I'de have left her much coyn,
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And her freedom too joyn:
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With that Youth,
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Who in truth,
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now enjoys what is mine.
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She swears I am a sot,
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Deform'd and whatnot,
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But I swear
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By the Beer,
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That I have in this Pot,
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I will cherish my blood,
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With the best of all food,
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Brisk Wine,
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Shall be mine,
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And all things that are good.
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I care not a pin,
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But let them laugh as win,
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Ile delight
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Day and Night,
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And ne'r count it a sin.
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Pritty Phillis I know,
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So much love doth me owe.
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She'd be willing,
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To be billing,
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And bend to my bow.
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Though she saies I am in age,
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Yet I am free to engage,
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With a beauty,
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Where duty,
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All hate doth assuage.
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Since Celia's unkind,
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Ile be of the same mind,
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Let her go,
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Since I know,
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Where a better to find.
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She has taught me the way,
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For to sport and to play,
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She may leave me,
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Not grieve me,
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Nor my reason betray.
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Being free'd from a wife,
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I shall live without strife;
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Enjoying,
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And toying,
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All days of my Life.
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Then think it not strange,
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If like Celia I range;
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If she
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Love not me,
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Why may not I change?
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Ile get free from the Charms
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Of those treacherous arms;
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And i'le yield
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Up the field
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To loves private alarms.
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Be happy and poor,
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Like a wanton young whore:
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We'l part
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With free heart,
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And i'le ne'r see thee more.
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Thy youngster at last,
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Whom thou now hold'st so fast;
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Will leave thee,
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And deceive thee,
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Then to Bridewel at last.
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Then when 'tis too late,
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Thou wilt praise thy old Mate:
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And curse
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Thyself worse,
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That his Love thou didst hate.
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But without all redress,
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For no love i'le express,
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To a woman
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That's common,
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As herself doth confess.
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Ile not make my moan,
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To the Trees, nor to stone,
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Be it known,
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When you'r gone,
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I will not lye alone.
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To Phillis i'le shew,
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What my courage can do;
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She'l raise me,
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And praise me,
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Thus Celia adieu.
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