(6)
Dear Mother, think of your own beginning,
my Father took you a ſervant maid:
Then don't deſpiſe her, I mean to raiſe her,
as my Father to you hath done,
I'll ne'er forſake her, but my wife I'll make her,
though you diſown me to be your Son.
Theſe eight long years I have ſail'd the ocean,
and then for love I to her did go;
I ne'er enquired about a portion,
ſhe may have money for ought I know:
But have or have not. now ſhe is my lot,
I joy to think that her love I've won;
I'll ne'er forſake her, but my wife I'll make her,
though you diſown me to be your Son.
The Farmer's Daughter I have been courting
though I ſhould marry her out of hand,
You cannot hinder me of my fortune,
as being heir to my Father's land:
When I that bleſſing ſhall be poſſeſſing,
I'll never travel as I have done;
With her I'll tarry. whom I would marry,
till the laſt ſand of my glaſs is run.
The Sailor's mother like one diſtracted,
the ſmote her breaſt, and her hair ſhe tore,
Saying. Since he had ſuch love contracted,
ſhe'd never come in his preſence more.
He cry'd, Dear Mother your paſſion ſmother,
for I cannot from my promiſe run:
I'll never forſake her, but my wife I'll make her,
though you diſown me to be your ſon.
