A Song to the Tune of The Hounds are all out, &c.
1
Of your Chloes and Philises poets may prate,
I sing my plain Country Joan,
Now twelve years my wife, still the joy of my life
Blest day that I made her my own.
My dear friends &c.
2
Not a word of her face, her shape, or her eyes,
Of flames or of darts shall you hear,
Tho’ I beauty admire, ’tis virtue I prize
Which fades not in seventy year,
My dear friends &c.
3
In peace and good order my household she guides,
Right careful to save what I gain,
Yet cheerfully spends, and smiles on the friends
I’ve the pleasure for to entertain.
My dear friends &c.
4
In health a companion, delightful and dear,
Still easy engaging and free,
In sickness no less, than the faithfullest nurse,
As tender as tender can be.
My dear friends &c.
5
She defends my good name, even where I’m to blame,
Friend firmer to man ne’er was given;
Her compassionate breast feels for all the distressed,
Which draws down the blessings of Heaven.
My dear friends &c.
6
Am I laden with care, she takes off a large share,
That the burthen ne’er makes me to reel,
Does good fortune arrive, the joy of my wife,
Quite doubles the pleasure I feel.
My dear friends &c.
7
In rapture the giddy rake talks of his Fair,
Possession shall make him despise;
I speak my cool sense, which long exper’ence
And acquaintance have chang’d in no wife.
My dear friends &c.
8
No jealousy ever disturbs her calm breast,
Convinc’d that I always respect her,
So like doves we go fondly to rest,
Without have one Curtain Lecture.
My dear friends &c.
9
Were the fairest young princess, with millions in purse,
To be had in exchange for my Joan,
She could not be a better wife, might be a worse,
So I’ll stick to my Juggy alone.
My dear friends &c.
I’ll cling to my lovely Old Joan.
10
Some faults we have all, and so may my Joan,
But then they’re exceedingly small,
And now I am us’d to ’em they’re so like my own,
I scarcely can see them at all.
My dear friends &c.
I scarcely can see them at all.
Derby