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Has ſhe not dole enough that has an
OLD MAN.
ALL young damſels both handſome and pretty,
Come draw near unto me, ſit down and ſing,
A ſong of miſcarriage, concerning my marriage,
And by daily dolor hands I do wring.
My age is ſcarce twenty as plain doth appear,
I married an old man of ſeventy three year,
And by my miſguiding you may very well ken,
What ſhould a young woman do with an old man.
He's ſnuffing and ſneezing, he's banning & ſwearing,
He's hard of the hearing, he cannot well ſee,
He fumbels and grumbels, and over he tumbles,
And what is his ſnoring, alas! unto me?
His pate it is bald, his beard it is thin,
Rough is his hair, and hard is his ſkin;
His breath it is ſtrong, his face pale and wan,
And that's the hail properties of an old man.
When he down lieth, he groaneth, he crieth,
As one were a dying, in dolour and pain;
Inſtead of love kiſſes, he itches and ſcratches,
Himſelf he outſtretcheth with groaning again.
But when he lies down at ten o' the clock,
Turns firſt to the wall, and then to the ſtock;
I then wipe the tears, now as they down ran,
And ſaid woe to the day, e'er I ſaw an old man.
Young giglet he calls me, and ſays he will lame me,
Young gillet he names me, and ſometimes a whore,
But haud thy tongue auld man, and ſay no more ſuch,
Fain would I ſay cuckold, but I think as much.
But I will lay by my maſk and my fan,
And bid woe to the day e'er I ſaw an old man;
Otherwiſe for to corp him I will do the beſt,
And with his old feather's I'll build a new neſt.
