The Country Lass,
Who left her Spinning-Wheel for a more pleasant Employment.
To the Tune of My Maid Mary.
Licensed according to Order.
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SWeet fac'd Jenny receiv'd a Guinea,
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but she lost her Maiden-head just at that time,
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But the golden Guinea bright,
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Was so pleasant to her sight,
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that she accounted the sin no Crime;
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Saying, Mother the Wanton I play'd,
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But for the same I have been well pay'd,
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I had Gold and Treasure besides the Pleasure,
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'Tis better for me than the Spinning-Trade.
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'Twas a Squire that did admire,
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the Beautiful Charms of your Daughter, she cry'd
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And among the Cocks of Hay,
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There we did both sport and play,
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what he requir'd I ne'er deny'd,
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Mother sure you will not be concern'd,
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That I my Money so soon have earn'd,
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I leave off this Spinning of Wollen and Linnen,
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And follow the Trade I now have learn'd.
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Then her Mother above all other,
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straight told her she was a young Harlot indeed,
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Likewise in a Rage she laid,
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You have lost your Maiden-head,
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who shall maintain your young Bastard Breed?
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She reply'd to her Mother again,
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You have no reason for to complain,
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by my own endeavour I labour ever,
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Myself Like a Lady here to maintain.
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I but Daughter you'll find hereafter,
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by young Men anD Lasses you will be revil'd,
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Thomas, Harry, Sue, and Nell,
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When they see your Belly swell,
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and you no father have for your Child:
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Susan, Nancy, nay Bridget and Priss,
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They'll all cry out, you have done amiss;
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It is not a Guinea, my Daughter Jenny,
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Can never repair such a Breach as this.
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I'll ne'er fear it, who e'er comes near it,
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shall give me the Money before they begin,
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Then I never shall be poor,
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But have Gold and Silver store,
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whoever loses I'm sure to win;
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The young Squire will come e'ery day,
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And for his Pastime will freely pay:
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my Spinning and Carding is not worth a Farthing,
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I'll fling both my Rock and my Reel away.
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Virgin Treasure I'll use at pleasure,
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why shou'd not young Lasses make use of their own?
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I have been tormented fore,
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Seventeen long years and more,
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while I was forced to lye alone,
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Now I'm belov'd by the Squire in Town,
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Who is a Person of high Renown,
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therefore I'm a Lady methinks already,
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Although I am cloathed in a Russet Gown.
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Won't it grieve you if he should leave you?
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come tell me Dear Daughter her Mother reply'd,
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When your Coats too short are grown,
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You may lye and make your moan.
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Mother I pray now forbear to chide;
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If at length I should happen to breed,
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I'll hasten to my old Love with speed,
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the Miller, young Harry, with him I'll marry,
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He'll serve for a Cloak in the time of need.
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