Dick & Nell, or, Linky Lanky/Will the weaver

WILL the WEAVER.

To its own proper Tune.

MOther, I am married,
I wiſh that I had longer tarried,
For the women they do ſwear,
That the breeches they will wear.

Does ſhe ſcold or does ſhe riot,
Or is ſhe coſtly in her diet,
Sometimes to the tavern goes,
With Will the weaver, and God knows.

Loving ſon, no more diſcover,
But pray my dear go home and love her,
Give my daughter what's her due,
Let me hear no more of you,

I'll give her gold, I'll give her diet,
I'll give her all things if ſhe's quiet,
But if in words ſhe does rebel,
I'll take a ſtick and bang her well.

A neighbour coming for to meet him,
Just on purpoſe for to vex him,
I'll tell you what I ſaw juſt now,
As I was coming unto you.

I ſaw your wife and Will the weaver,
Mighty free and cloſs together,
At the threſhold of the door,
They both went in, I ſaw no more.

Home he went, all in a wonder,
Knocking at the door like thunder,
Who is there, the weaver cry'd?
It is my huſband, you muſt hide.

Up the chimney ſtraight he ventur'd,
In the houſe her huſband enter'd.
Where have you been all the day,
Come and tell me now I pray?

A ſpending of your gold and treaſure,
All the day long out of meaſure,
While I poor girl muſt ſtay at home,
By myſelf to make my moan.

Loving Wive, no more affliction,
But pray follow my direction,
Bring me ſome beer, for I am dry,
This to her he did reply.

Then he did uſe his beſt endeavour,
For to find out Will the weaver,
Where he ſearch'd rooms & parlourround,
Never a ſoul was to be found.

Up the chimney ſtraight he gazed,
Where he ſtood like one amazed,
Where he fpy'd the wretched ſoul,
Perching on the chimney pole.

I am glad that I have found thee,
I will neither hang nor drown thee,
But I will ſtifle thee with ſmoke,
Thus he thought, but nothing ſpoke.

Then he put on a rouzing fire,
For to pleaſe his own deſire,
His wife cry'd out with free good will,
Huſband, do not the weaver kill.

Then quickly he put on more fuel,
Then ſhe cry'd, My deareſt jewel,
Since that I am your deareſt wife,
Take him down and ſpare his life.

Off the chimney pole he took him,
And ſo merrily he ſhook him,
At every blow theſe words he ſpoke,
Come no more to ſtop my ſmoke.

Never was a chimney-ſweeper,
Half ſo black as Will the weaver,
Face and hands, and clothes likewiſe,
Sent him home with two black eyes.

F I N I S.