The Country Miss new come in Fashion;
OR,
A farewel to the Pockifi'd Town-Miss.
A Country Girl in a Paragon Gown,
That never yet knew the tricks of the town;
Did lately delude a taring Gallant,
Who just such an innocent Virgin did want;
and since he's enjoy'd her I heard him protest
That of all other Misses she pleased him best.
To an excellent new Play-house Tune,
Called, The mock Tune to the French Rant.
With Allowance.
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GIve me the Lass that's true Country bred,
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With paragon gown, straw Hat on her head;
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Feeding upon good Bacon and Beans,
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But never knew what jilting means.
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What though her skin be tawny and course,
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Flocks she lyes on, she'l kiss ne'r the worse;
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Clap she ne'r had like Miss of the Town,
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That's painted and patcht, and lyes up and down.
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What though her speech be simple and plain,
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She knows not what flattering complements mean;
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If bawdy you speak, she blushes & smiles,
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Such innocent charms stead of beauty beguiles.
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Free from distempers in every part,
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Whereever she likes she loves from her heart,
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She's not for a minute like those of the Trade,
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For pleasing enjoyment for ever she's made.
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She has not the trick of forcing delight,
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But acts with like pleasures each day & each night
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Each moment she's dying, so hot is her fire,
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And never does kiss but with perfect desire.
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So sound is her Nature, she's alwaies in health,
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Her kisses are sweet which she gives me by stealth
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When e're I am dull, and sit sighing alone,
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She'l sing me a song of young Tommy and Jone.
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The hair of her head is as black as a Crow,
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She's very well shap'd, not too high nor too low;
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All parts are inviting in e'ry degree,
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Especially those we are forbidden to see.
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My Nanny and I (for that is her name)
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So equally manage now each others flame,
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That neither's deceiv'd, nor can ever be cloy'd,
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But both alike brisk after pleasure's enjoy'd.
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Our Misses o'th' Town act contrariwise,
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They ne'r take delight but in hopes of a prize;
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Their desire is pall'd before they begin,
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Because they each day make a Trade of their Sin.
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Their blood is corrupted, their bodies are fowl,
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They swear loud enough to damn body and soul;
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They clap all their Cullies, and their pockets pick,
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And send the young fop home for a while to be sick.
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With a doze of rare Pills, & some other fine slaps
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They keep 'emselves under the notion of Claps,
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Which else would arrive to the bridge of the nose,
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But that they prevent by a Turpentine doze.
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My Nanny and I are free from disease,
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We ne'r are in danger let's do what we please;
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We hugg and we kiss, we sport and we play,
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And for pleasures we study to find a new way.
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What though her country Tones does seem rude,
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And cannot with eloquence others delude,
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'Tis no matter for that, she has won my heart so,
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I shall love her for ever for a trick that I know.
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Beyond all expressing she sweetens our joys,
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And doubtless she's full of fine Girls and fine boys
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She's kind and she's true & so constant does prove,
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She ne'r will admit any Rival in Love.
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The Butterflye Miss may scoff if she will,
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And swear that my Country Nanny wants skill:
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To sport and to kiss, but i'le vow she's deceiv'd,
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She has judgement enough if I may be believ'd.
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Such harmless embraces would ravish ones soul,
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Though old age and envy stand by to controul:
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Her kisses a man almost dead will revive,
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No better are had from no woman alive.
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All that I have said of my Nanny is true,
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And more she deserves if I gave her her due,
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But this shall suffice, and my labour i'le save,
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Left you all fall a longing for what you can, I have
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