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She’s learning and wit at will,
Few women has greater skill.
Both Latin and Greek, and French she can speak.
Though borm in a watermill.
Which makes her so proud, she’s wonderful loud.
She doth possess all happiness,
Yet nevertheless. I must confess,
She has an unruly toungue
With queen Helen does does dispute,
Few women can her confute.
She sings, one plays, the knows all the keys,
Of the violin, harp, and lute;
She dances with grace her honour to trace.
Which docs to her belong,
With lock’s that curl, and costly pearl,
She is a girl fit for an earl,
If she could but rule her tongue.
She’s witty, as it is said,
Let none of you be dismay’d,
For I am assured it must be endured,
Whatever on me is said ;
Yet I’ll not disparadge, nor hinder the marriage,
Be yon either old or young,
When choice you make, look whom ye take.
For virtue’s sake, no crosses make
Grief like to a woman’s tongue.
If I was to chuse again,
I’d not in a merry vein,
Take she that comes next, for to be perplex’d,
’Tis a folly to complain,
Before I’d lie by her, truth I would try her,
How clever that clack was hung,
And if l found that lofty sound,
I'd quit my ground, e’er I be bound
To such an unruly tongue,
