The FARMER'S Courtship;
OR, THE
Mitcham WIDOW.

AT Mitcham Town did dwell
A brisk young Widow;
For Toppings and Nightrails
None could exceed her.
She was proper, trait and tall,
And a comely Dame withal,
She had fingers long and small,
She was a brisk young Widow.

Courted she was by one,
A jolly Farmer;
He came in Armour bold,
Thinking to gain her.
Dear Madam, now with you
The World I will go thro',
If that you will prove true,
And Love a Farmer.

Kind Sir, I ne'er could yield
To your poſſeſſion;
For when my Money's gone,
I doſe the Fashion:
The World will on me frown,
My Toppings muſt come down
To a Linſey-Wolſey Gown
For all your Anger.

My deareſt, until Death,
I will prove Loyal,
You ſhall go in Silks,
Without Denial:
If I your Perſon have,
I will maintain you brave,
A Horſe and Man you'll have
To wait upon you.

Why thus you do pretend,
I much admire,
For to Maintain me in
My rich Attire?
'Tis not your Lambs nor Ewes,
Will buy me Furbellows,
Lac'd Shoes and Scarlet Hoft,
Top-Knots and Bridles.

Madam, why do you Boaſt,
In all, your Glory?
In Time you may Repent,
And change your story:
For 'tis the ſe raving Beaus,
That wear the Tally-Cloaths
Will pawn your Furbelows,
To ſtop the Bailiffs.

Why do you ſtand to Prate ?
Pray take your Anſwer;
Go Home unto your Plough,
Pull off your Hanger :
And turn it to a Bill,
Some Bramble for to kill;
Go Whiffle thro' the Field,
Like a Jolly Farmer.

Next Morning trim and gay,
An Apothecary
Came in his Booby-Hutch,
Thinking to gain her :
At which the Farmer ſwore,
The Devil is in her ſure,
Therefore I'll go no more
To Court a Widow.

Printed and Sold in Aldermare Church-Yard, Bow-Lane, London.