|
TO every faithful Lover
|
that's constant to her dear,
|
This Ditty doth discover
|
Affections pure and cleere;
|
Affections and Afflictions too,
|
do in this Story move,
|
Where Youth, and truth,
|
obtain the Crown of Love.
|
A Man of mean Extraction,
|
brought up in Worcester-shiere,
|
Was guided by Affection
|
to love a Lady dear,
|
Whose eyes did shew like morning dew,
|
that doth on Lillies lye;
|
Her face, and grace,
|
well mixt with majesty.
|
She was the only Heiress
|
unto a Gentleman,
|
And all her Fathers care is
|
to marry her to one,
|
Whose welth & wit, may fairly fit
|
a Lady of such worth;
|
But he, that she
|
did Love, was poore by birth.
|
A Farmers son being handsome,
|
did catch this Ladies heart
|
So fast in hold, no Ransome
|
can free it from the Dart:
|
The Gentleman, when he began
|
to understand this thing,
|
Quoth hee, I'le free,
|
my fond daughter in the Spring.
|
The Spring came, & the Pressing
|
was every where begun;
|
Her Fathers fears increasing,
|
did Press the Farmers Son,
|
No money could Redeem him,
|
thought she, if he must go,
|
I'le ne're, stay here,
|
but I'le be a Seaman too.
|
|
|
|
|
The Second Part, To the same Tune.
|
THe Gentleman did Press him,
|
and sent him to the slaughter,
|
He thought fit to Press the Man
|
that would have prest his daughter;
|
His wit prevents all her intents,
|
for on her knees he brought her;
|
But one, Love gone,
|
straight the tother follows after.
|
This Maid with Ingenuity
|
had every Surgeons part,
|
A Ladies hand, an Eagles eye,
|
but yet a Lyons heart;
|
She knew all tents, & instruments
|
Salves, Oyntments, Oyls & all,
|
That they, imploy,
|
in the fight when Souldiers fall.
|
In mans Aparil she did
|
resolve to try her Fate,
|
And in the Ship where he rid,
|
she went as Surgeons Mate;
|
Sayes she, my Souldier shall not be
|
destroy'd for want of Cure,
|
I'le Dress, and Bless,
|
whatsoever I endure.
|
Their names Philip and Mary,
|
who then were both at Sea;
|
Phil. fought like old King Harry,
|
but from the Enemy
|
Poore Philip had receiv'd a shot,
|
through that part of the thigh,
|
Did joyn to's groin,
|
Oh! that shot came something nigh.
|
Into the Surgeons Cabbin,
|
they did convay him straight,
|
Where first, of all the wounded men.
|
the pretty Surgens Mate,
|
Though in this trim, unknown to him
|
did bravely shew her Art,
|
She drest, and kist,
|
the woful wounded part.
|
Which she did most mildly dress,
|
and shed her teares upon 't;
|
He observ'd, but could not guess,
|
or find the meaning on 't,
|
Although he wou'd, in tears & blood
|
oft times on Mary call,
|
And pray, she may,
|
be there at his Funeral.
|
Fierce fights at Sea this Couple
|
did valiantly indure,
|
As fast as one did aime to kill,
|
the t other striv'd to cure;
|
The Souldier, & the Surgens Mate
|
did both imploy their parts,
|
That they, each way,
|
did win all the Seamens hearts.
|
The Summer being ended,
|
that they could fight no more,
|
The Ship came to be mended,
|
and all men went a shore;
|
Stout Philip lov'd the Surgeons
|
so much he could not be Mate
|
An houre, or more,
|
out of his company.
|
He often view'd her Feature,
|
And gaz'd on every part;
|
(Quoth Philip) such a Creature
|
is Mistriss of my heart,
|
If she be dead, I'le never wed,
|
but be with thee for ever,
|
We'l walk, and talk,
|
Live, Lye, and Dye together.
|
Poore Mary full of passion,
|
to hear him prove so kind,
|
Orejoy'd with this Relation,
|
could not conceale her mind,
|
But fondly hangs about his neck,
|
her tears did trickle down,
|
Sayes she, I'le be,
|
still thy true Companion.
|
Since providence hath vanquish'd
|
the dangers of the Sea,
|
I'le never marry whilst I live,
|
unless it be with thee;
|
No woman kind, shall ever find
|
my heart to be so free,
|
If thou, wilt vow,
|
but to be as true to mee.
|
E're he could speak, she told him,
|
I am thy dearest dear,
|
Thy Mary thou hast brought a shore
|
and now thou holdst her here,
|
This man's Atire, I did but hire,
|
when first I followed thee;
|
Thy Dove, I'le prove,
|
but no Surgeons Mate am I,
|
He flung his arms about her,
|
he wondred, kist, and wept;
|
His Mary he did hold so fast,
|
as if he would have crept
|
Into her soul and body too;
|
his eyes in joy did swimm,
|
And she, as free,
|
was as fully fond of him.
|
They both rid towards Worc'ster,
|
to shew how they had sped;
|
But upon the Road they heard
|
her Father he was dead,
|
Two months at least after he prest
|
the Farmers Son for slaughter;
|
In tears, appears,
|
the sad duty of a Daughter.
|
Philip having chear'd her up,
|
they rid directly home,
|
Where after many a bitter cup)
|
the Marriage day was come,
|
Which they in state, did Celebrate
|
the Gallants that were there,
|
Were grave, and brave,
|
all the best in Worc'ster-shire.
|
Thus may you by this Couple see,
|
what from true love doth Spring
|
When Men love with fidelity
|
their Mistriss, & their King:
|
when maids shew men, true love a-gen
|
in spight of Fortunes frowns,
|
They'l wive, and thrive,
|
for such crosses have their crowns.
|
|
|
|
|