The ANSWER to the
Buxome VIRGIN,
OR,
The Farmer well-fitted, for slighting his first Love Honest Joan.
When Men can be so false as he,
And Waver with the Wind,
I do protest, I do not jest,
They're fitted in their kind.
To the Tune of, The Countrey-Farmer, Or, The Buxome Virgin.
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THe Country Farmer is now undone,
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He knoweth not whether to go or run,
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Now into a snare he is thus betray'd,
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By marrying with Gillian the buxome maid:
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As true as we are in this place,
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Within the term of two months space,
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She made him a sorrowful sower face,
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That Neddy was in a most woeful case.
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And just in the middle of all the night,
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She put him into a most fearful fright,
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Her pittiful groans and sorrowful cryes,
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Compell'd the Farmer at length to rise:
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Then slipping on his shooes and hose,
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But carelesly putting on his cloaths,
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Down Stairs in a hurry away he goes,
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And called her mother, then straight she arose.
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O what is the matter my son said she,
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You call in a hurry so hastily,
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Nay marry quoth Ned, I do not know
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Your daughter hath fill'd my heart with woe,
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With woful groans and dismal crys,
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My sences all she did surprize,
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So that at the length I was forc'd to rise,
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But what is the matter I cannot devise.
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When she had consider'd of what he said,
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She posted away and no time delay'd,
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The Old woman was in a woful touze,
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And trotting away to her Daughters house,
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But coming there, she knew full well,
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As I to you the truth may tell,
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That Gillian had been too oft at the Mill,
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And that was the cause of her falling ill.
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Those Millers, quoth she, are such pomperd blades
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Thus doing, they ruine poor harmless maids,
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I think there is hardly one in ten,
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That can be reputed right honest men:
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There is Robin, Ralph, and lusty Will,
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All brawny Blades of wanton skill
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That never maid can go to the Mill,
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But they will be kissing and courting still.
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But why should we tattle an[d] talk of this,
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She is not the first that hath done amiss,
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Go fetch the Midwife and call the Nurse,
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Come come my dear Son it is well it's no worse:
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The Farmer he Saddled bonny Rone,
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And Rid full speed five miles alone,
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Then sighing and sobbing, and making moan,
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He wished he had never forsaken Joan.
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But after the trouble was o're and past,
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A Chopping brave Boy she enjoy'd at last,
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But Neddy at this his stomach it riss,
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To Father the Brat that was none of his:
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Said they the Calf must with the Cow,
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Both Law and reason doth allow,
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Therefore my dear son be contented now,
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In time he may come to drive the Plow.
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This being consider'd, he soon was kind,
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Though he at the first was disturb'd in mind,
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Then putting an end to the whole dispute,
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He gave his sweet Gillian a kind salute:
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To Father it he will not fail,
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O now appears a pleasant gale,
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When they with the Farmer did thus prevail,
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They drank up full brimmers of Nappy Ale.
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The Women and he they were all agree'd,
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To Christen the bantling now with speed,
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Then straight for the business they prepare,
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The Names of the Gossips I will declare,
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The one was Edwards Couzen Phill,
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The other jolly bouncing Nell,
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And Roger the Miller of Holeton-Dell,
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So this being over, then all was well.
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