The Combers Whistle OR, The Sport of the Spring.  
Th●s story plain will make appear,  
What mettle men the Combers are,  
And that they are no whit afraid,  
To entertain a pretty Maid;  
The pleasant time in mirth they spent,  
Where as he gave her good content.  
Tune of, The Carman's Whistle.  

With Allowance,  
Ro. L'Estrange.   
 
 

ALL in a pleasant Morning,  
in the Merry Month of May;  
Walking the fragrant Meadows,  
where the Comber took his way:  
And viewing round about him,  
whereas he did remain;  
At length he spied a fair Maid,  
upon the flowery Plain.   

So cheerful was her countenance,  
and lovely to behold,  
She seemed as if that Venus fair,  
was of the self same Mould.  
And many a smirk, and smile she gave,  
all in the Meadows green,  
I could compare her unto none,  
but unto Love's fair Queen.   

At length she turned her smiling  
into a lovesick song,  
Lamenting of her woeful chance,  
she stayed a Maid so long:  
There's many that are younger  
than I, that have been wed;  
Yet still I fear that I shall die,  
and keep my Maidenhead.   

My Father's rich and wealthy,  
and hath no Child but I,  
But still I want a Husband,  
to keep me company:  
My years are young and tender,  
and I am fair and tall,  
Yet there is never a youngman,  
will comfort me at all.   
 
 

THe blossoms of my beauty,  
I think may well invite,  
Some Bachelor of fortune good,  
to take me for his right;  
For why I dare presume it,  
there's few doth me excel,  
As it is manifest and plain,  
to all that know me well.   

How happy are those Virgins all,  
that in the City throng,  
For they have Sweethearts plenty,  
and ne'er live single long;  
Which makes me grieve so sadly,  
that yet I am not sped,  
For in plain terms, to tell you true,  
I long for to be wed.   

This Comber he stood listening,  
to hear her make such moan,  
His heart was sorely grieved,  
to see her all alone;  
He quickly stepped unto her,  
and with a joyful cheer,  
Quoth he fair Maid I chanced,  
your mournful Song to hear.   

And now I'm come to ease you  
of all your grief and pain,  
For why, I well can please you,  
by Whistling of a strain;  
Quoth she I long to hear it,  
so well that you can play,  
Then prithee go about it strait,  
because I hate delay.   

Then he pulled forth his Whistle  
and played a note or two;  
The Maid she was so overjoyed,  
she knew not what to do:  
And well she was contented,  
with him to bear a part,  
A blessing said this Maiden fair,  
light on this Combers heart.   

Quoth she, I prithee tell me,  
where didst thou learn this game,  
It was a young brisk Journeyman  
that made it for his Dame.  
With which he oft did please her,  
as she to him did say,  
And charged him that he should not see,  
the Whistle made a way.   

Then she did him desire  
one other Time to play,  
Which made her so admire  
she thus to him did say:  
Of all the pleasant Music  
that ever I did know;  
The Combers merry Whistle,  
shall for my money go.   

O when shall we two meet again,  
for pleasure and delight?  
At any time or season,  
by day, or eke by night:  
Then count me very slothful,  
if that you send for me,  
When as I fail to meet my Dear:  
so take these Kisses three.    

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.