Crumbs of Comfort FOR THE YOUNGEST SISTER  
The youngest Sister in despair,  
At last did comfort find,  
Which banished all her grief and care,  
And eased her troubled mind,  
A kind young man did promise her  
That she should married be,  
She answered him again, Kind Sir,  
Thereto I'm wondrous free.  
To a pleasant new West country Tune.  
 
 

I Have a good old Father at home,  
an ancient man is he,  
But he has a mind, that e'er he dies,  

That I should married be.    

And since I heard of thy complaint,  
methoughts I pitied thee,  
To me thou seemest like a Saint,  

And thou shalt married be.    

The Roses and the Lilies fair  
cannot compare to thee,  
Then mine own Dear do not despair,  

for thou shalt married be    

I have been curious in mine eye,  
yet ne'er could any see,  
That so much pleased my fantasy,  

And thou shalt married be.    

All night between my loving Arms,  
thou shalt have embraces free,  
And i'll secure thee from all harms  

When thou shalt married be.    

And wouldst thou have a pretty Babe  
i'll quickly get it thee,  
Thy credit and my own to save,  

When we two married be.    
 
 

A Thousand joys i'll promise more  
and all the world shall see,  
That none like thee I will adore,  

And thou shalt married be.    

What though thy Sister is bestowed,  
let not that trouble thee,  
On her young men some years have blowed  

Thou young shalt married be.    

Thou hast no wrinkles in thy face  
and so i'm sure has she,  
'Twill be an honour, no disgrace,  

That thou shouldst married be.    

And tell me now canst thou deny  
so kind a friend as me,  
That saith thou shalt no Maiden die,  

But thou shalt married be.    

If I walk through the Universe  
I can no fairee see,  
But every where I will rehearse  

That we will married be.    

I'll Crown thee with the joys of love,  
some Mortals ne'er did see,  
And some shall wish that live above,  

Like us to married be.    

Can Hymen any joys provide,  
my Dear for thee or me,  
Out of his thoughts they cannot slide,  

But thou shalt married be.    

No, no, torment thyself no more,  
nor fear loves cruelty,  
Thou art the girl that I adore,  

And thou shalt married be,    

Give me thy hand, take here my heart,  
and be from sorrow free,  
I know the worth of thy desert,  

And thou shalt married be.    

'Twill be one day a blessed time  
and we from cares be free,  
When thou art married in thy prime  

That I may happy be.     

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden in Ball West-Smithfield.