The Doting Old DAD, OR, The Unequal Match betwixt a Rich Muckworm of Fourscore and Ten, and a Young Lass scarce Nineteen.  
When Dads thus Old, whose Blood is cold,  
young Damsels seeks to Wed;  
For their neglect, they may expect  
Horns grafted on their Head.  
To the Tune of, All Trades.  
This may be Printed, R. P.  
 
 
 

THere was a young Damsel of fate,  
was Wooed by a Dad very Old,  
He had a right worthy Estate,  
besides store of Silver and Gold:  
His Service he proffered her then,  
yet he was as pale as a Ghost,  
He being full Fourscore and Ten,  
and she was but Nineteen at most:  
But ever when he drew nigh,  
the Damsel would strait reply;  
I'll never have you, for what can you do?  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

Although I am wrinkled and Lean,  
yet I will be loving to thee,  
And deck thee as fine as a Queen,  
if thou wilt be Married to me:  
Both Silver and Gold I have store,  
and yet though thy Portion is small,  
If I had a thousand times more,  
yet you should be Mistress of all:  
But ever when he drew nigh,  
the Damsel would strait Reply,  
I'll never have you, for what can you do?  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie,   

I tell thee my amorous Girl,  
if that thou wilt he but my Bride,  
I'll give thee Rich jewels and Pearl,  
and twenty new Nick-knacks beside:  
A Tower and Top-knot so fine,  
a Mask and a delicate Fan;  
O tell me now wilt thou be mine,  
endeavour to love an Old Man:  
But ever when he, etc.   

He proffered her still to advance her,  
but thus with Discretion, said she,  
You re-Old enough to be my Grandsire,  
and therefore no Husband for me:  
For when I behold your bald Pate,  
and straggling Hairs white and grey,  
O then at a sorrowful rate,  
I weeping and sighing, shall say:  
O what a hard Fortune have I,  
though Married, a Maiden must die;  
The more is my grief, I see no relief,  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

Now hearing the Damsels intent,  
and finding he could not prevail,  
Away to her Mother he went,  
and told her a pitiful Tate:  
Your Daughter she is in a rage,  
and all my kind proffers won't heed,  
Besides, she despises my Age,  
which ought to be Honoured indeed:  
For when to her I draw nigh,  
she makes this strange Reply;  
I'll never have you, for what can you do?  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

She strait for her Daughter did send,  
before the Old Man went away,  
In duty she strait did attend,  
to hear what her Mother would say:  
My Daughter, you well understand,  
that he has good Treasure enuff,  
In Money, nay, cattle and Land,  
with abundance of good Householdstuff:  
Then Daughter tell me but why,  
you will not freely-comply?  
Said she, he is Old, his Blood it is cold,  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

Her Mother did hear her therefore  
she straightway did call her aside  
You know he has Riches great st●●●  
and therefore you must he his B●●●●●  
And as for the pleasure of Youth,  
if he can't get Daughter or So●  
Believe me, I'd have you, in tru●●  
do e'en as your Mother has don●  
For when my Old Dad would deny,  
to yield me a daily supply,  
I still had a Friend my Will to attend  
for fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

Thus you may your sorrows relief  
although an Old Fumblers Wif●  
It is easy to make him believe  
you love him as dear as ●our life  
You need not his jealousy dread,  
if that you will make but each nig●  
A Cordial, and put him to Bed,  
then kiss with a Gallant all night  
For Daughter, I cannot deny,  
but Wives may want a supply,  
Which if it be so, abroad we must go,  
for fie upon Fumblers, fie.   

The Damsel she gave her Consent,  
and they the next morning was 〈◊〉  
The day was in Merriment spent,  
at length they did hurry to Bed:  
And then said the Feeble Old Man,  
thy Fancy I'd willingly feed,  
But can do no more than I can,  
accept of the Will for the Deed.  
In Bed he Grunting doth I, e,  
which makes her often Reply,  
I still am a Maid, and shall be, she said,  
O fie upon Fumblers, fie.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Sign the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital Gate, in West-Smithfield.