THE Coy COOKMAID, Who was Courted importunately by Irish, Welsh, Spanish, French and Dutch, but at last was conquered by a poor English Tailor.  
To the Tune of, There was a brisk Lass. etc. This may be Printed, R. P.  
 
 

John scrubbed up her rooms, made all things clean,  
The tables, th● chair, and the edge of the shreen,  
She scoured each pisspot and pe●ter-dish  
Make e'rything clean as heart could wish;  
The ●●water and brass was so very clear,  
That ●●nting a glass, she oft drew near,  
To 〈◊〉 her beat and curl her 〈◊〉,  
Not one amongst twenty with her could compare.   

She wrote hit plumb po●tage and sweet mine'd-ples,  
The cost-beef was laid down when she did rise;  
Dinner was ready, and liked so well,  
Not one amongst twenty could Joan excel;  
They praissed her so much that Joan grew proud,  
And then she began to pra●e aloud,  
I will have a husband oft she cried,  
I pretty youngman a lie by my ●●●e▪   

Than out stepped a Scot with blue bonnet on,  
He looked full as big as a Spanish son  
His pistol was under his chequered pla●e,  
His whinyard was made of a Bilbo blade:  
Quoth he, bread a gad, the day's mine a●●n,  
I●e as bonny a fellow as e'er was knawn,  
I●e will be this lassee, before I see gang beam,  
She'll mark me geud longeval to fill my weam,   

He come salute her, but Joan was mad,  
And called the poor scotch man a sawey lad,  
She took up the ladle and broke his & ●●●  
And told him he prossered his love too late:  
Deel blind you, quoth Sawny, you nasty slut,  
The wickl der● stop ●emp in your ●ut,  
Isen ●set● Joan to be my wife,  
She'll e'en meek on weary of my life,   
 

Then a sine frenchman took his place,  
His cravet and ruffles where all of ●are.  
Said he, begar, me comes to dis●place,  
Me be much in love vid your● sweet face,  
Me no like no law v●o●n this town.  
Begar, me no like dem, they ver● much frown;  
〈◊〉 have seen all, me sink dere's none  
But may be compared vid mistress Joan.   

〈◊〉 be resolve to lose my life  
But me till have Joan to be my wife:  
Joan looked about, and then replied,  
The devil shall be the french man's bride;  
March to your portage you ●inical kn●●e,  
I'll needs go to France to be your ●●●ve;  
Get you out of the kitchen, or else by Mars  
This swinging sp●t shall run through your a—   

Poor monsieur looked blank and sneaked away,  
For his wife nor his life he durst not stay;  
Then entered on ●rish man and swóre  
The noise of her beauty brought him o'er;  
No naam is Teague, and by my 〈…〉  
I prize by faith 'bove all ●n de Naashon,  
Den prithee dear joy come kish my sweet fa●●h,  
By shaint Phaatrick I never will leave this plaash.   

I have a potato-plat of my own,  
An a shneeshing b●●h, 'tishish very well known;  
I have a sehullogue to run by my ●●●●e,  
I fait and troth thou shalt be my bride.  
Be gone bogg-trotter, than Joan did cry,  
Or the from stick shall on your shoulders lie,  
Pack up your awl, and make short of your story,  
Or I'll make you pay dear for your vainglory.   

A seaman from Holland then enters the 〈◊〉  
As mucken a rascal as ever ●●st;  
He Nought in his hand a bottle of Nan's,  
And swore 'twas the famous●st liquor in Fran●  
‛ I will make you Dutch spraagen before it be  
Be gone (said she) you drunken clown,  
I'll pull ●he blue rug from off your pate,  
If you offer to stay with Joan to prate.   

And then Jack Spaniard began to vapour,  
With a mighty short cloak and a very l●●●  
He offered his service and proudly did ●●●ut,  
But Joan went and gave him a kick with 〈◊〉  
He insolent dog (quoth she) be gone,  
There's none I hare more than a Spanish 〈◊〉  
I mean not to wait upon such a proud sinn●●  
Whilst be is pomp'ring his guts at ●●nner.   

The welshman hearing the test were gone,  
Resolved that he would be with her a●●on,  
With le●k in his bar, on St. Taffy's day▪ s  
He came to Joan, and thus he did say:  
Hur was a brave gentleman in Wales,  
Hur has a food land, cots-plutter-a-nails,  
Hur has a fine goat, and her makes ●heese,  
Was her makes her a lady if now her please▪   

But Joan protested she hated them ●lt.  
And swore to be at an english man'd call;  
She knew their humours and did not daubs▪  
But same or other would choose her out;  
At last she married a tailor good lord▪  
And he the greasy frig at did ●eard;  
They both were well pleased and 〈◊〉 agreed,  
And she from the ●est of her suitors was freed.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, in Pre-●●●●.