The Maid's answer to the Bachelor's Ballad▪ Or, Love without Remedy▪  

Thou Scriber! unto whom the Vulgar crew,  
Gives small applause, yet more than is thy due;  
Whose Brazen Brow, a withered Wreath adorns,  
Which better would become a pair of Horns:  
Know we contemn thee: thy Malicious Pen  
Can have no influence on the minds of men:  
In our dispraise, in vain thou seekest to write,  
True, thou mayst show thy teeth, but canst not bite▪  
Alas! rude Boy; Love is a generous pain,  
Which minds ignoble, cannot entertain:  
Therefore thy accusations are unjust,  
In giving Love the Character of Lust.   
To the Tune of; No more silly Cupid: Or, The Duke of Monmouth's Jig.  
With Allowance, By Ro. L'Estrange.  
 

WHo's here so ingenious  
mispending his time,  
In railing at Venus,  
In hopes to disparage,  
Love, womans, and marriage,  
By pitiful rhyme?  
He thinks he's ingenious  
and slyly the youngster entices;  
But we easily find,  
How the youth is inclined,  
by his tricks and devices.   

He plainly discovers  
his amorous arts,  
And calls 'em blind lovers,  
Who after enjoyment,  
can find new employment,  
to fetter their hearts:  
He plainly discovers  
a nature so rude and ingrateful,  
That after Compliance,  
he bids us defiance,  
and says we grow hateful.   

Then who but an Harlot  
would yield to the will  
Of every such Varlet,  
That loves at his leisure,  
And only takes pleasure,  
in showing his skill?  
Sure none but an harlot,  
would yield to the lustful persuasion,  
of fellows in Shammy,  
who only cry Dam, me,  
to serve their occasions.   

The gaudy young Sinner,  
whose blood is a fire,  
May fool a beginner,  
and treat her with Coaches,  
to mighty debauches,  
and gain his desire:  
Alas! for the Sinner,  
that covets such swéetness as this is!  
he seldom does fail,  
of a sting in the tail,  
with his wenches and Misses.   
 
 

THis makes him look meager,  
a wantoning Elf,  
His mind is so eager  
to humour his senses,  
that by his expenses,  
he ruins himself:  
This makes him so meager,  
he's nothing but pox and diseases,  
so after enjoying,  
the pleasure is cloying▪  
and quickly displeases.   

Then show me the woman,  
in City or Town,  
Tho' never so common,  
With such a lewd fellow,  
so tawny and yellow,  
will laugh and lie down:  
For sure she's no Woman  
that trades with a son for a Whore,  
who having enjoyed her,  
will straightway avoid her,  
and see her no more.   

The passionate Lover,  
that's caught in his youth,  
May plainly discover  
that all his persuasions  
are subtle evastons,  
and far from the truth:  
For he that's a Lover,  
and courteth sincerely and truly,  
may keep his affection  
in civil subjection,  
from being unruly.   

But let the fond Bully,  
his fancy employ,  
He never can fully  
or bring in suspicion,  
the sweets of fruition,  
true lobers' enjoy:  
In spite of the Bully,  
the pleasure of Conjugal kisses,  
is always dellghtful  
and far the more frightful;  
of temporal blisses.   

And yet for the Gallant,  
we must not deny:  
But that he's so valiant  
as stoutly to threaten,  
the girl shall be beaten,  
that will not comply:  
Beware of the Gallant!  
I vow he's a desperte creature,  
If any abuse him,  
Or dare to refuse him,  
he swears he will beat her.   

Sir Fopling, your Servant!  
the man's in a pet:  
What makes you so servant?  
You burn in displeasure,  
pray cool at you● leisure:  
that's all you will get:  
Your Servant, Sir Fopling,  
say all, and do more than you can sir,  
'Tis still my opinion,  
We shall have dominion,  
take that for an answer.    

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