I Father a Child that's none of my own, 
BEING The SEAMAN'S Complaint,  
Who took a Whore instead of a Saint.   
Showing, That whilst he was Trading Seven Years from Port to Port at Sea, and brought home great Wealth; his Wife in the mean time by Trading in the Low Countries, got a Mischance, fell down and broke her— Elbow: above all praising the Innocence of a Country Life.  
To the Tune of, Cook Laurel: Or, Give me the Lass, etc.  
 

IF every Woman was served in her kind,  
and every Man had his just desert,  
The Rooms in Bridewell would be so well lined,  
that a Coach could not pass in the street for a Cart.   

Full seven long years have I crossed the Seas,  
mean time I've been crossed as much on the Land,  
My Wife still at home did live at her ease,  
I'm sure she had all things at her command.   

She needed not her fingers to wet,  
yet she keeps her Gallant, she was so high flown  
But sure I must lose by the Stake or the Bet,  
If I Father a Child that is none of my own.   

I that have scaped the Rocks and the Sand,  
& climbed the Biltows when storms they have blown  
At last am come to be Shipwrecked on Land,  
To Father a Child that is none of my own.   
 

I Have Traded abroad to bring home some Wealth,  
from Port unto Port in far Countries unknown,  
Mean while my Wife has been trading by stealth,  
And got me a Child, though 'tis none of my own   

My Neighbour's all they do laugh me to scorn,  
and point their fingers at me and my Joan,  
Saying, that I ●ust drink out of a Horn,  
and Father a Child that is none of my own.   

Though I cannot Pocket my Horns as some can,  
by good women's Tattles they are so o'ergrown;  
Yet 'tis the hard case of many a Man,  
all you that hear me look home to your own.   

For Gallants are dainty and seek in the Throng,  
and love for to pick on another Man's Bone,  
So many an honest good Fellow has wrong,  
to Father a Child that is none of his own.   

In Cities and Towns of greatest request,  
this sly sort of Pilfering Trade is much known,  
If a man has a beautiful Wife he can't rest,  
for fear to keep Children that's none of his own.   

But well fare the Country, they live at their ease,  
their innocence all their Actions does Crown,  
they may go, they may stay, they may do what they please  
and fear not to keep any more than their own.   

The Ploughman that works far a Field all the day,  
and Shepherd that keepeth his Sheep all alone,  
At night when at home with their wives they may play  
and fear not to Father what's none of their own   

Now I must Rock the Cradle, beside  
dry Clours on my Horns by the fire at home,  
When I look abroad my Neighbours deride,  
'cause I Father a Child that is none of my own.   

And is not this most damnable strange,  
to be led by every Strumpet's moan,  
I may sit and sell Horns at the Royal Exchange,  
when I Father a Child that is none of my own.   

A man may be made a Cuckold by chance,  
and put another man's Child to Nurse,  
And Hoodwink his Horns through Ignorance,  
but he that's a Wittol is ten times worse.   

But i'll never grieve, but let it all pass,  
by Woman there's many a Man overthrown,  
Although I'm an Ox, i'll ne'er be an Ass,  
to Father a Child that is none of my own.   

Neither did I spring out of that Race,  
to call that my Seed which another hath sown,  
Then ne'er let me look King Charles in the face,  
if I Father a Child that is none of my own▪    

Printed for P. Brooksby, near the Hospital-gate, in West-smithfield.