Fortunate sailor, and the farmer's daughter, in the county of Kent

·

THE

Fortunate Sailor,

AND THE

Farmer's Daughter,

IN THE

COUNTY OF KENT.

A LOVE SONG,

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IN THREE PARTS.

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Falkirk, Printed in the Year 1821.

THE

FORTUNATE SAILOR

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A Sailor courted a Farmer's Daughter,
⁠whoſe living was in the wild of Kent.
But mark I pray you, what follow'd after,
⁠the waited long or ſhe gave conſent:
With conſtant courting, and ſtill reporting,
⁠great things concerning the ocean wide:
Said he, My ſweeting, at this (illegible text) meeting,
⁠Oh! give conſent for to be my Bride.

I muſt acknowledge I do adore thee,
⁠with all the tender reſpects of love;
None ever conquer'd my heart before thee,
⁠whom I admire and prize above.
Then richeſt jewel, O be not cruel;
⁠but lay thine angry frowns aſide;
And my dear ſweeting, at this bleſs d meeting,
⁠Oh! give conſent for to be my Bride.

Said ſhe, A Sailor I don't admire,
⁠becauſe they travel to foreign parts,
The more their company we deſire,
⁠the more they leave us with aching hearts,
And we lament with ſad vexation;
⁠therefore I pray now be ſatisfy'd:
Parting would grieve me, therefore believe me,
⁠I am not willing to be your Bride.

Be not diſturbed at the vain notions
⁠for I'll not often afflict thee so;
once more I reckon to fail the ocean
⁠Becauſe my love I'm oblig'd to go

To ſerve the nation in this my ſtation,
⁠the which ere long I will lay aſide:
Therefore, my ſweeting, at this bleſs d meeting,
⁠Oh! give conſent for to be my Bride.

After the death of my loving mother,
⁠I ſhall be bleſs'd with a good eſtate,
And thee, my jewel, abore all other,
⁠I have made choice of to be my mate:
Let me but gain thee, and I'll maintain thee;
⁠with peace and pleaſure on every ſide:
Therefore, my ſweeting at this bleſs d meeting,
⁠Oh! give conſent for to be my Bride.

Although I ſeem like a private Sailor,
⁠yet ne'ertheleſs I declare to thee.
My Father was a Merchant-Taylor,
⁠and left me ſeven ſcore pounds by year:
A fair beginning, ſilk lace fine linen,
⁠for thee, my jewel, I will provide:
Therefore, my ſweeting, at tinis bleſs'd meeting,
⁠On! give conſent for to be my Bride.

When once I come to the full poſſeſſion
⁠of my inheritance, never fear,
But I'll account it the beſt diſcretion
⁠to ſtay at home and enjoy my dear,
With peace and pleaſure, in midſt of treaſure,
⁠taking my leave of the ocean wide:
Therefore, my ſweating, at this bless'd meeting,
⁠Oh! give conſent for to be my Bride.

When he lad told her this pleaſant ſtory.
⁠the had no power to lay him nay:
Thinking herself in the highest glory,
⁠unto the Sailor ſhe thus did ſay,

Thou'ſt gain'd my favour and love for ever,
⁠therefore, my dear, be ſatisfy'd,
As thou art loyal, no more denial,
⁠for I am willing to be thy Bride.

Said he, My promiſe ſhall not be broken,
⁠ſo long as I have a day to live;
And take this ring as a faithful token,
⁠which as a token of love I give.
I'll wed thee fairly and love thee dearly,
⁠when I return from the ocean wide
To thee, dear ſweeting, at this bleſs'd meeting
⁠thou ſt giv'n conſent for to be my Brde.

PART II.

Unto his Mother it was reported.
⁠before he ever could get on board,
That he the Farmer's Daughter courted.
⁠whoſe friends and parents could not afford
To give a portion— at this range notion
⁠his Mother to him in a paſſion run,
And cry'd, Forsake her, if your wife you make her,
⁠I'll never own you to be my Son.

What! will you take one with ne'er a penny,
⁠a Farmer's Daughter. as I am told,
When here you may have a choice of many
⁠with birth and breeding, and ſtore of gold,
In London city?— Methinks 'tis pity
⁠that this my wealth ſhould to ruin run:
I pray forſake her: if your wife you make her,
⁠I'll never own you to be my Son.

There's miſtreſs Susan, of cherming beauty,
⁠whole five hundred pounds I know;

I charge you therefore, upon your duty,
⁠that you to her a-wooing go;
Pray pleaſe your Mother, and quit the other:
⁠Why ſhould your treaſure to ruin run?
Be ſure forſake her— if your wife you make her,
⁠I'll never own you to be my Son.

You may have Nancy, Sir William's couſin,
⁠a wealthy damſel, of beauty bright:
Nay, I could mention at leaſt a dozen,
⁠who in your company take delight:
Can theſe not pleaſe you?—D(illegible text) madness seize you?
⁠What! are you willing to be undone?
I pray forſake her if your wife you make her,
⁠I'll never own you to be my Son.

What makes you in ſue's a paſſion Mother?
⁠I muſt needs tell you you to come too late:
I love my jewel above all other
⁠whom you can mention, though ne'er ſo great;
For ſhe s my honey, a fig for money.
⁠ſhe has my love and affection won:
I'll ne'er forſake her, but my wife I'll make her,
⁠though you diſown me to be your Son

I ever honour'd my tender Parents,
⁠and that I hope I can fairly prove:
Why ſhould you threaten to be at variance,
⁠becauſe I marry the girl I love?
Although you beat me, abhor, and hate me,
⁠I'll finish what is ſo well, begun;
I'll ne'er forſake her, but my wife I'll make her
⁠though you diſown me to be your Son.

Fair youthful beauty is often winning,
⁠and men's fond hearts are ſoon betray'd;
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.

PART III.

The Farmer hearing of this confuſion,
⁠and that his Daughter was ſighted for
By his harſh Mother, then, in concluſion,
⁠he let the jolly Sailor know,
That if he'd tarry at home and marry,
⁠a ſpacious farm he would give him free,
For plowing, ſowing for reaping and mowing,
⁠he had no child in the world but ſhe.

The noble Sailor ſoon conſented,
⁠to quit the trouble of the ocean wide:
His friends and he they were well contented,
⁠they would in pomp to his Mother ride:
With their gay attire, like Knights and Squires,
⁠they made a ſplendid tearing ſhow,
He told his mother he had brought another,
⁠the Farmer's Daughter ſhe did not know.

Amongſt a million of charming faces,
⁠the like of her's you d ſcarce behold;
Her garb was sattin, with coſtly laces,
⁠and round her neck a (illegible text) chain of gold!
Tranſparent beauty! my Son, thy duty,
⁠thou haſt obſerv'd now I muſt ſay;
Still as ſhe view'd her, ſhe did conclude her is
⁠to be no leſs than a Lady gay.

Next day thereafter they were married,
⁠his Mother ſaid with a cheerful voice,
I'm glad all things are ſo fairly carried,
⁠I never liked your Farmer's choice:
T'would been our ruin, and ſad undoing,
⁠if thou had took her, I'm bold to ſay:
Come love and treaſure bring joy and pleasure,
⁠I'm glad you've married a Lady gay.

With that the jolly Farmer told her,
⁠this Lady ſprung from the painful plow,
Although, ſaid he, in (illegible text)k you behold her,
⁠then what can you ſay againſt her now?
Pray cauſe do fraction, nor make distraction,
⁠but love them both as they can agree;
And do not harm her, for I'm a Farmer,
⁠and have no child in the world, but ſhe.

That very minute, upon the table,
⁠out of his bag he was pleas'd to pour
Two hundred guineas, and ſaid, I'm able
⁠to give my Daughter as many more.
This pleas'd his Mother, above all other,
⁠who ſaid, I'm glad the knot is ty'd;
When first he fought her, I never thought her
⁠to be ſo beautiful a Bride.

Then there was nothing but joy between them,
⁠the muſic play'd a moſt pleaſant ſound!
You would have laughed if you had ſeen them,
⁠the old wife trotted the Cheſhire round.
The Farmer's treaſure brought peace and pleaſure,
⁠all grief and ſorrow bid adieu:
His Mother kiss'd her, and often bleſ'd her.
⁠You ſee what ſilver and gold can do.

FINIS.