Watchman (1802)/A wife for any man

by Charles Dibdin

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A WIFE FOR ANY MAN.

DE’IL tak the wars that hurry’d Willy from me,
Who to love I just had sworn
They made him Captain, sure, to undo me,
Woe’s me, he’ii ne’er return:
A thousand loons abroad will fight him,
He from thou lands ne’er will run:
Day and night I did invite him,
To stay safe from sword and gun.
I us’d alluring graces,
With muckle kind embraces.
Now fighting, then crying, tears dropping fall,'
And had he my soft arms
Preferr’d to war’s alarms;
My love grows mad,
Without the help of gad,
I fear in my fit I had granted all.

Just at our parting, how my hand he squeezed,
And granted me an humble kiss,
And spoke so kind, in truth I was pleased,
For I found a joy in this.
Then did I beg him. to quit his commission,
Lest he should never return again;
And then how wretched would be my condition,
If Willy in the wars was slain.
I sigh’d, and often told him.
What dangers might befal him;
In battle guns rattle, thousands likewise fall,
And if my love should die,
What should become of me?
Who here must lie,
Lamenting every day.
And if Willy’s kill’d added to all

How blest is she whose love is not for fighting,
Nor In the wars oblig’d to be;
But to continue with her he has delight in:
If mine did so then happy me
But mine runs through many dangers,
All for honour, that empty name.
Oh! had he to wars been a stranger,
Then my arms he’d ne’er refrain.
Though I had store of beauty,
He cry’d, It was his duty
For to go to Flanders, and he must be gone.
But had he sweet repose
Preferr d to bloody blow,
He ne’er would flie,
To Flanders for to die,
And thus to leave me to lie alone.

I wash’d and patch’d to make me more provoking,
Snares they told me would catch the men,
And on my head a large commode sat cocking,
Which made me shew as tall again.
It’s for a gown too paid much money,
Which with golden flowers did shine.
My love might well think me gay and bonny,
No Scots lass was e’er so fine.
My petticoat was spotted,
Fring’d too, with thread I knotted.
Lac' d shoes, silk hose, garter’d over knee.
But, oh! the fatal thought,
To Willy these were nought,
Who rode to towns,
Riffled with dragoons
While the silly loon might have plunder’d me.