The Forced Marriage. Or, Unfortunate Celia.  
When Old Fools do a wooing go to those  
Who are Young-girls, they Court their cruel foes,  
The Old man sees he can't prevail with tongue,  
But finds that young ones, love to sport with young:  
He to the Virgin's Parents makes redress,  
And doth the number of his Bags express;  
Which takes away her Father's heartby stealth,  
He weds her not to him, but to his Wealth.  
Which being done, she loathes his weak embraces,  
And throws herself on Ruinous Disgraces.  
Tune, Since Celia's my Foe.,  
 
 
 

TO what great distress  
Without hopes of redress,  
I am brought  
without Thought  
of a better success.   

Poor Celia's undone,  
And all joys from her gone,  
By her Mate  
came ill fate,  
which poor she could not shun.   

By Parents unkind,  
And with wealth too much blind  
Made me marry,  
and miscarry,  
against my own mind.   

I loved one before,  
But they thought him too poor,  
They forced me,  
and divorced me  
from seeing him more.   

I have now got a man  
I must love if I can,  
But I fear  
my first dear,  
I must love now and than.   

If I chance to transgress,  
As I shall you may guests,  
You may shame me,  
not blame me,  
for not loving him less.   

My Husband's a Sot,  
Deformed, and what not,  
All Day  
He's at play,  
with his Nose o'er a Pot.   

Whilst I sit at home,  
Like a poor silly Mome,  
Still crying,  
and dying,  
til my dearest doth come.   
 
 

WHen my fumbler's in bed,  
& has laid down his head,  
He lies  
with closed eyes,  
just though he was dead.   

Why should he repine,  
If I spend store of coin,  
to assist  
whom I list,  
in my pleasures to join.   

My friends are all mad,  
If at this they grow sad,  
Why did  
they forbid,  
him that I would have had.   

'Tis a dangerous disease,  
A Young woman to displease,  
Ill matching  
is catching,  
and is seldom at ease.   

I care not who knows,  
Be they friends or false foes,  
i'll Delight,  
day and night,  
in spite of their Nose.   

By first Love has my heart,  
And from him i'll ne'er start,  
though i'm wed,  
Yet in bed,  
he shall have the best part.   

If my father do chide,  
And his kindnesses hide,  
No anger  
nor danger  
my love shall divide.   

My mother does know,  
I have oft told her so,  
The old sot  
I loved not  
when he first came to woo.   

'Tis a thousand to one  
That before I have done,  
i'll deceive him,  
and leave him,  
to himself all alone.   

I'll venture the fame,  
Of a scandalous name,  
Before  
i'll give o'er,  
to love one of the game.   

I'll be happy and poor,  
With the man I adore,  
Since fate  
makes me hate,  
the old Fop that hath store.   

'Twas the ignorant curse,  
Of for better, for worse,  
Did me tie,  
till I die,  
to be true to his purse.   

I'll venture my lot,  
And get free from my Sot,  
Young blood  
does me good,  
now my spirits are hot.   

Let Parents conclude,  
I behave myself rude,  
Their will  
to fulfil,  
did my reason delude.   

Let each pretty Maid,  
Who hath heard what i've said,  
take care  
and beware,  
lest by force she's betrayed.   

Let Parents provide,  
For each daughter a Bride,  
That nothing  
Of loathing,  
their loves may divide.   
FINIS.  
 
With Allowance,  
R. L'Estrange.  By W. P.  

Printed for E. Oliver, at the Golden-Key on Snow hill near the Sarazens-head.