Frolicsome lady, or, The happy footman/The Woman's Weapon

The WOMAN'S WEAPON &c.

To the tune of the Milking Pail.

I Married a wife of late,
The more's my unhappy fate,
I took her for love as fancy might move,
’Twas not for her worldly estate:
Her qualities are, few with her compare,
Let me do her no wrong,
I’m in the mind most women kind,
Are thus inclin'd, when men’s confin’d,
They cannot well rule their tongue.

Her checks are like the red rose,
Which she for her beauty shows,
Her teeth in a row like ivory grow.
Betwixt her round chin and her nose:
Her shoulders are decent, her arms they are pleasant,
Her fingers are small and long,
She'll coo, she'll kiss, her chief amiss,
Is only this, as most wives is,
She cannot well rule her tongue,

When the on her pillow lies,
Her beautiful rolling eyes,
Like diamonds appear, so sparkling clear,
Like flora she far out vies,
The goddess of flowers, and queen of the bewers,
She’s delicate fair and young,
She’s straight and small, nay plump Withal,
Her fingers small, yet after ail.
She has an unruly tongue.

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,

Take warning young men by me,
Choose not for a charming she,
Take one that is brown, scarce fit for a clown.
If quiet and mild she be;
For those that do scold, will make you look old,
While quiet wives make men young.
For beauty will blaze, and many will gaze,
Who speak in their praise, which make women raise
Their proud and unruly tongue.