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<DATE>2008-09-04</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Mona Logarbo</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B080733.pdcc.</ITEM>
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<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="UM" ID="B06774">
<STC T="W">Y112</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">49521042</BIBNO>
<VID>174257</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="ballad">
<PB REF="1"><!-- PDF PAGE 9 -->
<HEAD>THE <HI>Youngmans carele&s;s Wooing:</HI> And the Witty Maids Replication;</HEAD>
<HEAD TYPE="sub"><HI>All done out of old Engli&s;h Proverbs.</HI></HEAD>
<OPENER><HI>To the Tune of, <HI>Mars</HI> and <HI>Venus.</HI></HI></OPENER>
<P><TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="license">
<P>This may be Printed.</P>
<CLOSER><SIGNED>R. P.</SIGNED></CLOSER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
</TEXT></P>
<DIV2 TYPE="part">
<P><FIGURE>
</FIGURE></P>
<SP>
<LG>
<L>DOwn in an Arbour devoted to <HI>Venus,</HI></L>
<L>un&s;een I heard, two fond Lovers contend;</L>
<L>Noting how <HI>Cupid</HI> from bu&s;ine&s;s can wean us</L>
<L>and yet their Love, come to an unhappy end</L>
<L>The blinded Boy no victory wins,</L>
<L>As you &s;hall hear he now begins.</L>
</LG>
</SP>
<SP>
<LG>
<L>I prethee Sweetheart grant me my de&s;ire,</L>
<L>for I am thrown as the old Proverb goes,</L>
<L><HI>Out of the Frying-pan into the Fire:</HI></L>
<L>and there is none doth pitty my woes,</L>
<L><HI>Then hang or drown'd him&s;elf</HI> my mu&s;e</L>
<L>For there is not a <HI>T&mdash; to choo&s;e.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Mo&s;t Maids are fal&s;e tho &s;ome &s;eem holyer</L>
<L>yet I believe they are all of one mind,</L>
<L><HI>Like unto like, quoth the Dee'l to the Collier:</HI></L>
<L>and they'l prove true <HI>when the Devil is blind,</HI></L>
<L>Let no Man yield to their de&s;ire</L>
<L><HI>For the burn'd Child doth dread the fire.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tell me not my Love, as white as the Dove is</L>
<L>for you would &s;ay &s;o if you &s;aw her within</L>
<L><HI>Shitten come &s;hites the beginning of Love is,</HI></L>
<L>and for her favour I care not a pin,</L>
<L>No love of mine, &s;he ever &s;hall be,</L>
<L><HI>Sirreverence of her Company.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I will no more in love by her hands &s;hake</L>
<L>let her go &s;eek one that fits for her mind,</L>
<L><HI>You know what's good for a Sow as a Pancake:</HI></L>
<L>and under &s;uch Dirt, i'le ne're be confin'd</L>
<L>And he that hopes her Love to win,</L>
<L>Re&s;olves to <HI>run through thick and thin.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Tho' her disdainfulne&s;s my heart hath cloven</L>
<L>yet am I of &s;o gallant a mind</L>
<L><HI>I'le ne'r creep in her Ar&s;e to bake in her oven.</HI></L>
<L>for 'tis an old Proverb, <HI>Cat after kind,</HI></L>
<L>And this Ple &s;ay until I dye,</L>
<L><HI>Farewel a be hang'd that's I wis good buy.</HI></L>
</LG>
</SP>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 TYPE="part">
<PB REF="1"><!-- PDF PAGE 9 -->
<P><FIGURE>
</FIGURE></P>
<P><FIGURE>
</FIGURE></P>
<SP>
<SPEAKER>The Witty MAIDS An&s;wer.</SPEAKER>
<LG>
<L>The &s;illy Maid drown'd in Tears of vexation,</L>
<L>&s;ending to him whom &s;he lov'd be&s;t of all;</L>
<L>Such a &s;ad &s;onnet &s;o pe&s;ter'd with pa&s;&s;ion</L>
<L>tearing her hair to the ground &s;he did fall,</L>
<L>But ri&s;ing up undauntedly</L>
<L>&s;he unto him made this reply.</L>
</LG>
</SP>
<SP>
<LG>
<L>If I &s;hould grant unto thee thy de&s;ire</L>
<L>without obtaining my Mother good will</L>
<L>Then i'm &s;ure <HI>all the Fats in the Fire:</HI></L>
<L>I know what I think, and think I will &s;till,</L>
<L>my Mu&s;e and yours are paltry Elves</L>
<L><HI>They may go hang and drown them&s;elves.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thou may'&s;t go follow thy &s;weetheart to <HI>Norwich</HI></L>
<L>&s;he is a La&s;s that's fit for your Tooth,</L>
<L><HI>A Sluts good enough to make Slovens Porridge</HI></L>
<L>and that was the rea&s;on yea left me for&s;ooth;</L>
<L>But this I &s;ay, and will do &s;till,</L>
<L><HI>'Tis a good Iack makes a good Jill.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I mu&s;t confe&s;s that I loved thee well one day,</L>
<L>but e're that thou &s;ind&s;t me do &s;o again,</L>
<L><HI>Thou &s;halt come ki&s;s me where I &s;at on Sunday</HI></L>
<L>We fooli&s;h Maids put to much tru&s;t in Men,</L>
<L>For when we think we are in our Heaven,</L>
<L><HI>You leave us all at &s;ixes and &s;eavens.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thou only &s;eeke&s;t to know where my &s;tock is</L>
<L><HI>But &s;tay by my troth, &s;ome are wi&s;er than &s;om<GAP DESC="illegible" EXTENT="1 letter"></HI></L>
<L><HI>Near is my Petticoat, nearer my Smock is,</HI></L>
<L><HI>and thy Entertainment &s;hall be like Iack Drum</HI></L>
<L>For when my Portion thou ha&s;t got,</L>
<L><HI>'Tis need that makes the old Wife trot.</HI></L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>And thus to conclude upon our conferring,</L>
<L>mo&s;t Men are as fal&s;e, very few Men are true</L>
<L>They are neither Fi&s;h, Fle&s;h, nor yet good red her|ring</L>
<L>we mu&s;t &s;peak truth, give the Devil his dew</L>
<L>And this &s;hall be my la&s;t reply</L>
<L>Go walk up out Knave what care I.</L>
</LG>
</SP>
</DIV2>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner.</P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
</TEXT>
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