The Scornful Maid, and the Constant Youngman.  

With mocks and taunts she doth him jeer,  
As in this ditty you may hear;  
Yet no denial he would have,  
But still her favour he did crave:   

Yet at the last she granted love,  
And vowed She would constant prove;  
Yet in this Ditty you may find,  
It is Money that doth a bargain bind.   
Tune of, Time's Changeling I will-never be: Or, Sawny, Or, A Fig for France.  
 
 

ALL hail, all hail, thou Lady gay,  
the glory of the world to me,  
More beauteous in mine eyes I say,  
than Venus in her prime could be:  
One smile from thee I now do crave,  
If so much favour I could have:  
One smiling glance from that twinkling eye,  
Will save my life, or else I die.   

Stand back, good sir, what would you have  
your speeches let me understand,  
What is the thing that you do crave,  
do not you think me to trappan:  
What beauty here Sir can you spy,  
Hands off, I pray come not me nigh:  
Either a smile, or else a frown,  
I think will serve for such a Clown:   

What ails my dearest hearts delight,  
sweet Lady now be not so coy,  
Thou seem'st to be an Angel bright,  
in thee is all my earthly joy:  
Then do not seek my life to spill,  
But grant me love for my good will:  
One glance from that bright twinkling eye,  
Will make me for to live or die.   

The Second Part,  
to the same Tune.  

O Fie away, thou fondling now,  
my very heart thou vexest sore,  
I scorn such py'd-Nose jacks as thou,  
pack, pack, I say, come here no more:  
That Maid which sets her love on thee,  
May say she is blind and cannot see:  
The durtiest Drabin all the Town,  
May prove too good for such a Clown.   

Oh say not so, my only joy,  
I am the man which loves thee dear,  
Thy speeches doth me sore annoy,  
but yet thy love I do not fear:  
In time I hope thou wilt change thy mind,  
For all thou seem'st at first unkind:  
One smiling glance, etc.   

Good Sir, I pray this answer take,  
you spend your time in vain on me,  
I pray you seek some other Mate,  
my heart doth scorn thy base degree:  
What do you think I am so blind,  
To have a Clown by birth or kind?  
Oh no, I pray you come not me nigh,  
For I scorn my shoes thou shouldst untie.   

Well Lady, now if it be so,  
that I no favour here can have:  
But now by force from thee must go,  
some other Maidens love to crave:  
This Gold and Silver I will let fly,  
Before the next shall me deny:  
For all thou termest me such a Clown,  
I have a Year five hundred pound.   

'tis not your Gold, good sir, that shall  
tempt me to yield unto your will,  
That Maid which comes when you do call,  
will find you have but little skill:  
In this same case, you do profess  
To please a Maid, I do protest  
I see no skill that you can have,  
To give a Maid what she doth crave.   

If that be all my dearest Dear,  
if that thou please me but to prove,  
Then of my skill thou needst not fear,  
lo, I have here what Maids do love:  
Here is Gold and Silver, come and see,  
With all delights to pleasure thee:  
Therefore some favour to me show,  
Before that I from hence do go.   

What dost thou think I am so fond,  
to yield my freedom here for Gold,  
Or dost thou think I dote on means,  
O no, it never shall be told  
That money shall my Master be,  
Therefore come thou no more at me:  
Be gone, be gone, stand not to prate,  
For fear I break thy Clownish pate.   

Then fare you well thou scornful Dame,  
for seeing it won't no better be,  
Yet I must needs set forth thy fame,  
of all the Maids that e'er I see,  
For beauty rare within mine eyes,  
No Man can win a rarer prize:  
If thou would yield to me thy love,  
I constant always vow to prove.   

Well Sir, if you will constant prove,  
as now you do profess to me,  
Than I do grant to thee my love,  
and I vow to prove as true to thee:  
Here is hand and heart to thee I give,  
And I vow to love thee while I live:  
What more can you desire of me,  
For a constant wife I will prove to thee.   

If it be so my Dearest Dear,  
thou shalt never have cause to repent,  
For costly clothing, with jewels rare,  
I have to give my Love content:  
Here is my hand, my heart is thine,  
And blessed be the hour and time:  
That thou didst grant thy love to me,  
Come now we will go and Married be.    By T. Robin's. 
FINIS.   

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