The Love Sports of Wanton Jemmy and Simpering Jenny; OR The Servingman and his Mistriss the Chambermaid. As it was acted at twelve of the Clock at night when their Master was in Bed. To a new Tune, called, Tell me Jenny, etc.
|
The Man speakes.
|
TEll me Jenny, tell me roundly,
|
when you will your Heart surrender:
|
Faith and troth ise love you soundly;
|
I that was the first Pretender.
|
Ne'r say nay, nor delay,
|
here's my heart, and there's my hand too;
|
All that's mine shall be thine,
|
Body and Goods at your Command too.
|
The Maid speakes.
|
Ah! how many Maids (quoth J[e]nny)
|
have you promis[']d to be t[r]ue to?
|
[A]y, I think the Devil's in you,
|
[?] kiss a body so as you do.
|
What do you do? let me go,
|
I can't abide such foolish doing;
|
Get you gone, naughty man,
|
fy, is this your way in wooing?
|
The Man speakes.
|
Prithee Jenny, why so fretfull?
|
tell me how I did displease ye:
|
Why is Jenny grown so hatefull,
|
that you e're should bid him leave ye?
|
If that kiss was amiss
|
a fault I did not then know;
|
Since 'tis done, let't alone,
|
and bite me if I do again so.
|
The Maid speakes.
|
Lord! how strangely you provoke me!
|
let me go i'le swear i'le beat ye:
|
Such another kiss will choak me,
|
surely you intend to eat me:
|
What d' ye mean? what's your aim?
|
why d' ye give me cause to chide ye?
|
Get you gone, naughty man,
|
I vow and swear I can't abide ye.
|
The Man speakes.
|
Jenny needs must know my meaning
|
why I kiss her with such ferver,
|
Kisses are not worth the naming
|
to those pleasures I reserve her:
|
Be not coy, let's injoy
|
what the gods and Nature gave us,
|
Youeh with Love still should move,
|
when we are Old the joy will leave us.
|
The Maid speakes.
|
Jemmy surely does not love me,
|
if he did he would not wooe me,
|
Nor so passionately move me
|
for the thing that will undo me:
|
Pray give o're, pray no more,
|
why d'ye tremble now and start so?
|
Get you gone you naughty man,
|
you've rais'd up something at my heart lo.
|
The Man speakes.
|
I have that will quickly Cure ye,
|
if you will but be my Patient;
|
Of your health I will assure ye,
|
and will do't this very instant:
|
I have a Pill will not fail
|
if your stomach will endure it;
|
Maid. Get you gone, foolish man,
|
i'm sure one Dose will never cure it.
|
The Maid speakes again.
|
Well, i'le swear you're so unruly
|
that I shall be forc'd to leave ye;
|
Is this your loving me so truly?
|
don't you think Old Nick will have ye?
|
Fy, nay pish, what d'ye do,
|
is this your filthy way to cure me?
|
Get you gone, naughty man,
|
I vow and swear I can't endure ye.
|
|
|
|
|
|