The Undutiful Daughter of Devonshire:  
OR, The careful Kind indulgent Father's Entreaties for her to forsake her Lover a Spendthrift, and to Embrace a Farmer's hopeful Son.  
The Tune is, How can I be Merry or Glad.  
Licenced according to Order.  
 
 

BEhold I am an Aged Man,  
who have one Youthful Daughter dear;  
And yet let me take what care I can,  
she'll not to my Counsel once give ear.   

I love her as I do my Life,  
for her I take a Constant Care;  
Therefore I'd not have her ma●e a Wife,  
for him that should bring her to Dispair.   

Having one Daughter, and no more,  
she should a Loving Father find;  
I'll give her both Gold and Silver store,  
if she would but marry to my mind.   

But she has set her Love on one,  
who is a Man of mean degree:  
And though I have Schooled her still alone,  
she'll not in the least be ruled by me.   
 

He is a Spendthrift Gaming Blade,  
that Roams abroad both far and near;  
And therefore as I have often said,  
there's nothing but ruin does appear.   

I tell her this with melting Eyes,  
and beg of her to take good heed;  
Yet she does my Counsel still despise,  
which causes my Aged heart to bleed.   

I tell her of the Pains and Care,  
which I have took for what I have;  
And therefore I think it is not fair,  
to Spend it upon a Crafty Knave.   

In Taverns will he Rant and Roar,  
and ev'ry lewd Companion feast;  
And when he has quite Consumed her store,  
he'll never regard her in the least.   

She knows that he delights to Game,  
and does of folly take his fill;  
Yet this will not in the least reclaim,  
her obstinate Disobdient will.   

Alas! she is my Darting dear,  
this day alive I have no more;  
Therefore I would have her flourish here,  
and live as her Mother has done before.   

She is I find so stubborn grown.  
that what have she will not Prize;  
For I declare I will hold my own,  
she Values not that in the least she cries.   

Nay, was he but an honest Man,  
in whom I might some hope behold;  
I'd never deny him for I can  
give with her three Hundred Pounds in Gold.   

'Tis true, three Hundred Pounds, they may  
be thought a portion mean and small  
Yet I think it too much to throw away  
on one that will Piss it against the Wall.   

Besides when I this world shall leave,  
her Lot will then full larger be:  
The rest of my Treasure she'll then receive,  
for why I can give it to none but she.   

Again I'll to my Daughter go,  
where like a Father and a Friend.  
I'll Court her to let this Spendthrift go,  
why should she with sorrow my heart offend.   

And if she does my Counsel take,  
I have a Farmer's Son in store  
Who will a kind loving Husband make,  
and does her fair beautiful Charms adore.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare and 〈…〉