The Deceived Virgin,
OR THE
Treacherous Young LOVERS Cruelty.
Being a New Song Sung at Windsor:
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Fair Maids Beware, for Men has Oily Tongues,
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And Smoothly Court you to your greatest Wrongs,
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With Curses, Oaths, large Promises to Boot,
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They'l Importune you to Admit the Suit,
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But you are Fools I'le Swear by Gad if e're you do't.
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A good Sword, or Stick, if you'l but take the Pain,
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Will Force that Right which you but Court in Vain.
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To the Tune of Celia my Foe.
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Entred according to Order.
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COme Hither all you,
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Who to Love never knew;
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Here's a Ditty,
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Both Witty
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And Wonderous true,
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Such a one that will make
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Your sad Hearts for to Ake
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When I tell ye
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What befell me
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For my true Loves Sake.
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I was a Fair Maid,
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And some Beauty I had
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Which the Young Men
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Came Thronging
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To see, and were glad
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But amongst all the Rest,
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There was one I Lov'd Best,
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Who with pain
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Did Obtaine
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A Large Room in my Breast.
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With more Care and more Pain
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Then in Seiges was Tain,
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To my Chamber,
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Through Danger
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He constantly came
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Where he wasted the Night
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In desiring he might,
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But at first
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I was Curst
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And rejected him quite.
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With a Thousand more Oaths,
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He heaved up the Cloaths
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With such strength
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That at length
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He in Vain did oppose;
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But my affections within
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Was as Urgent as him,
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And with Arder
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Did Further
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His Fatal designe.
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When he had gain'd my Warm Fort,
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Which so long he did Court,
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He had Leasure
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With Pleasure
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To Pause on the Sport,
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By the Oath of a Kiss,
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He Renewed his sweet Bliss,
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And Swore
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As Before,
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I should ever be his.
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But Alas! How in Vain,
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Does Poor Maidens Complain,
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When the Men
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Has once Tain
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What they wish for again
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When their Fair Virgins Flower
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Is gone out of their Power,
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They may Snatch,
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But can't Catch
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At one happy short Hour.
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With that we both went
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To compleat our content
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To the Church,
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Where with much
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Satisfaction we spent
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All the time, whilst in Bands,
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The Black-Man Joyn'd our hands
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Whilst Returning
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Both Burning
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He squenched our Flames.
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Thus Maids may behold,
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What it is to be bold,
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When in Courting
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And Sporting
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Your Sweet-Hearts grow Cold,
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A good Sword in your Hand,
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Will your Affections Command,
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Whilst with Sighing
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And Crying
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Unpittied you Stand.
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FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for Absalon Chamberlain, 1684.
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