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Whose wealth has bought the venal kiss,
And made her Nabal's bride.
Was it for this (O foolish maid!)
I scorn'd the parson's son?
For this alone I dress'd my head,
And wore my Sunday's gown.
Did I for this his passion crown,
My sex's pride forego,
And brave the scandal of the town,
To be forsaken so!
Ah gentle virgins timely wise,
Th'impending danger shun!
Nor seek to please your master's eyes,
Leſt you should be undone.
But from the youth upon the plain
A partner chuse for life;
For constant is the village swain,
And happy is his wife.
Then peaceful in your little cot,
Your days shall all be spent;
And Heaven shall bless the favour'd spot
With freedom and content.
While I for ever must deplore
My foolish easy faith,
And never hope for comfort more,
But in the arms of death.
Printed by G. Miller, Dunbar.
