A Remedy for the GREEN SICKNESS.
A pretty Damsel full of love,
Lay panting all alone,
Which did a Youngsters pitty move,
To hear her sigh and groan.
Tune, Philander.
|
A Handsom buxom Lass
|
lay panting in her bed,
|
She look't as green as grass
|
and mournfully she said.
|
Except I have some lusty lad
|
to ease me of my pain,
|
I cannot live
|
I sigh and grieve,
|
My Life I now disdain.
|
But if some bonny Lad
|
would be so kind to me,
|
Before I am quite mad
|
to end my misery.
|
And coole those burning flames of fire
|
which rage within my Brest,
|
Then should I be
|
From torments free,
|
And be forever blest.
|
I am both young and fair
|
yet 'tis my fortune hard,
|
I'me ready to despair
|
my pleasures are debar'd
|
And I poor soul cannot enjoy
|
nor tast of Lovers bliss,
|
Whilst others meet,
|
Those joyes so sweet,
|
Oh! what a life is this.
|
Were but my passion known
|
sure some would pitty me,
|
That lys so long alone
|
for want of company.
|
Had I some young man in my Arms
|
that would be brisk and brave,
|
My pains would end,
|
He'd prove my Friend,
|
And keep me from my grave.
|
For this tormenting pain
|
I cannot long endure,
|
My hopes are all in vain,
|
if I expect a cure,
|
Without some thundring lad comes in
|
and with a courage bold,
|
Grant me delight.
|
I'de him requite,
|
With silver and with Gold.
|
A gallant lively Lad
|
that in the next room lay,
|
It made his heart full glad
|
to hear what she did say.
|
Into the room immediately
|
this youngster he did rush,
|
Some words he spoke,
|
Love to provoke,
|
But she straight cryed out hush.
|
My Father he will hear
|
and then we'r both undone,
|
Quoth he love do not fear
|
i'le venture for a Son.
|
The coverled he then threw off
|
and jump'd into the Bed,
|
And in a trice,
|
He kiss'd her twice,
|
Then to his Chamber fled.
|
And blushing all alone
|
this Damsel sweating lay,
|
Her troubles they were gone
|
thus softly she did say.
|
Had I but known that Lovers bliss
|
had been so sweet a taste,
|
I'de nere have Stay'd
|
Nor beg'd nor pray'd
|
That so much time did waste.
|
This lusty Youthful boy
|
that banisht all my pain,
|
I must his love enjoy
|
e're it be long again.
|
For Gold and Silver ile not spare,
|
can that his courage prove,
|
He has an Art,
|
Without all smart,
|
Green Sickness to remove.
|
A sigh she gave and said
|
oh! come again to me,
|
For I am half affraid
|
I shall not cured be,
|
At this first bout then prithee try
|
to help me once again,
|
Count me not bold,
|
Ile give thee Gold
|
Enough for all thy pain.
|
|
|
|
|
|