An Answer To the forced Marriage: Or, the old man's vindication.  
I Read a Song a Day or two ago,  
Which says that Celia's now grown whorish too,  
And makes a fine pretence because she's wed,  
To one that's old, she need must wrong his bed:  
I of her wantonness having suspicion,  
Have searched, and found out the old man's condition;  
And now I plainly see she wrongs him much,  
She only had a mind to take a touch;  
With some fond foolish youngster, not for need,  
For her old man as well can do the deed:  
As most men can, and this may satisfy,  
That Celia doth her husband much belie.  
The Tune is, Celia's my Foe.  
 
 

SInce Celia's a Whore,  
I'll abide her no more,  
Let her go,  
Since I know,  
A far better in store:  
The ill luck was my own,  
That a slut I have known,  
Who scorns me,  
And horns me,  
And swears she'll be gone.   

Her Parents took care,  
That my wealth she should share,  
Crying Daughter,  
Hereafter,  
Be wise and beware.  
Though your Husband be old,  
Prithee be not too bold,  
If unkind,  
You will find,  
That his Love will grow cold;   

Methinks their advice,  
Might have made her more wise;  
Till death  
Stopped my breath,  
And had closed up my eyes.  
I'd have left her much coin,  
And her freedom too join:  
With that Youth,  
Who in truth,  
now enjoys what is mine.   
 
 
 

She swears I am a sot,  
Deformed and what not,  
But I swear  
By the Beer,  
That I have in this Pot,  
I will cherish my blood,  
With the best of all food,  
Brisk Wine,  
Shall be mine,  
And all things that are good.   

I care not a pin,  
But let them laugh as win,  
I'll delight  
Day and Night,  
And ne'er count it a sin.  
Pretty Phillis I know,  
So much love doth me owe.  
She'd be willing,  
To be billing,  
And bend to my bow.   

Though she says I am in age,  
Yet I am free to engage,  
With a beauty,  
Where duty,  
All hats doth assuage.  
Since Celia's unkind,  
I'll be of the same mind,  
Let her go,  
Since I know,  
Where a better to find.   

She has taught me the way,  
For to sport and to play,  
She may leave me,  
Not grieve me,  
Nor my reason betray.  
Being freed from a wife,  
I shall live without strife;  
Enjoying,  
And toying,  
All days of my Life.   

Then think it not strange,  
If like Celia I range;  
If she  
Love not me,  
Why may not I change,  
I'll get free from the Charms  
Of those treacherous arms;  
And i'll yield  
Up the field  
To loves private alarms.   

Be happy and poor,  
Like a wanton young whore:  
We'll part  
With free heart,  
And i'll ne'er see thee more.  
Thy youngster at last,  
Whom thou now hold'st so fast;  
Will leave thee,  
And deceive thee,  
Then to Bridewell at last.   

Then when 'tis too late,  
Thou wilt praise thy old Mate:  
And curse  
Thyself worse,  
That his Love thou didst hate.  
But without all redress,  
For no love i'll express,  
To a woman  
That's common,  
As herself doth confess.   

I'll not make my moan,  
To the Trees, nor to stone,  
Be it known,  
When you're gone,  
I will not lie alone.  
To Phillis i'll show,  
What my courage can do;  
She'll raise me,  
And praise me,  
Thus Celia adieu.   
FINIS.   

With Permission, Ro. L'Estrange.   

Printed for E. Oliver, at the Golden-Key on Snow-hill, near the Sarazens-head. Where any Chapmen may be Furnished with all sorts of Books and Ballads.