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EBBA 35837

Beinecke Library - Michell-Jolliffe
Ballad XSLT Template
THE
Wanton Maidens Choice.
No Landed Men nor Farmers are for she,
She delights not in that Wealthy Company:
No Taylors, Joyners, Gentle-Craft, or any,
But a thumping T[i]nker that can pay her Cunny.
Tune is, Hey boys up go we: Or, Alas poor thing.

I Am a Maid now in my prime,
and fain I would be wed,
But i'le not have a Ranting Blade,
to bring him to my Bed:
Then oft he will be out abroad,
when he should be at home,
Then I shall want what is my due
and be forc'd to lye alone.

Nor i'le not have a Free-holder,
they oft-times go astray
They'l have a Miss besides their Wife,
and that is but foul play:

they spend their strength so much abroad
nothing can be done at home,
But give me a Lad, if he can be had,
that will do it at Night and Noon.

Nor i'le not have a Farmer,
that does wear a clouted Shoe,
He is so weary all the day,
with holding of the Plow
He is no sooner got to Bed,
but he is fast asleep,
Such tricks as those they cannot chuse,
but will make a Woman weep.

And if I should Marry a Tradesman,
the case it may be bad,
For now at hand, I'm at a stand,
to have a lusty Lad:
For if I should Marry an idle drone,
and a Fumbler too beside,
I should be in danger to hang myself,
that ever I was a Bride.

If I should have a Black-smith,
he has a fiery look,
He often will be Drinking,
he has a Spark lies in his Throat:
And then at night he has no power,
there's nothing to be got,
God help that Woman I do say,
that Weds a Drunken Sot.

Nor I'le not have a Taylor,
he is too light behind,
He'l be too hard for me at Cabbidge,
if he can any find:
And so I may be famished
while Cabbidge time doth last,
He'l have his share, he'l never care,
whether I do eat or fast.

If I should Wed one of the Gentle-craft
I should have now and then a touch,
But if he meet with a pritty Maid,
and get her in his Clutch,
He'd like the Soul, and stop the hole,
and feel the bottom too,
When I may lye at home poor fool,
and have nothing for to do.

Tho' the Joyner comes to me I swear,
he is a cunning man,
He'l get so far into my Gears,
i'le be careful of the same:
Yet to be sure, and that is pure,
if he lay a Maid down on her back,
He'l have a care, and that is rare,
she shall have what she does lack.

But of all the men that here is nam'd,
a Mettal-Man for me,
He shall be welcome day and night,
into my Company:
He has a Bag of Tools I swear,
and bravely he can them use,
I am made go to't, he needs must do't.
I can him not refuse.


Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guiltspur-street.

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