A mock-Song: Or, Love and no love.  

The youngman with this Maid would fain be doing,  
And very earnest was with her in wooing;  
But the Maiden she was very cunningly witted,  
I think no youngman never was better fitted.   
To the Tune of, Mars and Venus.  
With Allowance, Ro. L'Estrange.  
 

ALL in the Evening as I walked  
in the fields to take the ay●,  
I spied two Lovers there a talking,  
under a pleasant shady Bower;  
The youngman said sweetheart dost love me,  
For I vow now I am come to prove thee,  
if thou will be true and constant,  
And grant me love for love again,  
For I swear my heart with love is slain.   Maid. 
Indeed good Sir you do but flatter,  
your compliments cost you no money;  
I'd have you rest yourself contented,  
for all you call me love and honey:  
For a Maiden she had need be careful,  
And of young men's promises to be fearful;  
they're given so much to dissemble;  
And tell a Maiden a hundred lies,  
as many as there is stars i'th' skies.  Man. 
Alas fair Maiden your mistaken,  
i'll be as true as I do say:  
And take these Gloves now in a love token,  
and let us dally a while to day.  
The time is pleasant, let's be doing,  
As a remembrance of our amorous wooing;  
and be so civil to my question;  
If thou and I can but agree,  
I take much delight in thy company.  Maid. 
O Sir I see what your intent is,  
your a pretty man I understand;  
To bring a Maiden to destruction,  
if she could be by you trappaned:  
but hold you, for tho' your tongue runs nimble  
Some men they can lie and dissemble;  
so cunningly that he can woo:  
To bring a Maiden to their Bow,  
But I am not one that will do so.  
 
 
Besides your nose Sir is so messel,  
you spend what should maintain a Wife,  
That is a sign that you will baffle,  
you make her weary of her life:  
Besides your countenance looks sour,  
That you can both lout, pout and lour,  
out of a Crabtree you was bred;  
Your Vinegar face makes me afraid,  
I'd better in my grave he laid.  Man. 
O prithee Maiden be contented,  
I have gold to make amends for all;  
For want of beauty i'll show more fancy,  
thou have thy servants at thy call:  
Besides i'll be so loving to thee,  
Because I can small beauty show thee,  
what in my heart shall not be wanting:  
If thou will yield thy love to me,  
That we in love may both agree.  Maid. 
Indeed Sir you I cannot fancy,  
that's not the thing I stand upon;  
If I have a man he be neat and handsome,  
take your answer now Sir, and be gone:  
For a Frying-pan face shall not me entangle,  
I'll keep out of false Cupid's angle,  
nor no golden baits shall fetter me:  
I live well enough if I can see,  
For a single life to a Maid is free.  Man. 
Why then fair Maiden I must leave thee,  
God send thee a husband to thy delight,  
I am sorry my Crabtree face doth grieve thee,  
a fairer may chance to have more deceit.  
All is not gold that now doth glister.  
Nor all not lead that doth look rusty:  
the Trial of a man is all,  
If thou canst not love me another shall,  
You may chance to leap and get a fall.  Maid. 
I wish you Sir once more to hear me,  
I have a word more for to say;  
If I should yield and you deceive me,  
I might repent it another day;  
Therefore i'll not be tied in Marriage,  
But live a Maid in a civil carriage,  
a single life I hold it pleasant;  
For a woman to go whether she please,  
She's free to work, or take her ease.  
And so i'd wish you to be jogging,  
and take your fortune where you can;  
Many Maids has believed youngman's cogging  
and by that means has been undone.  
For as long as a Maid she can live single,  
And keep out of Cupid's tangle,  
she's free from sorrow, care, and strife;  
Before many a man that has a Wife,  
And lives a pleasant happy life.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, near the Hospital-gate, in Westsmith field.