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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A MILK-MAID SINGS by THOMAS D'URFEY

First Line: TWAS IN THE FLOWERY SPRING
Last Line: CHORUS. 'TWAS IN THE FLOWRY SPRING, &C.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring,
The Linnet, Nightingale and Thrush,
Sate on the fresh green Hauthorn Bush;
And jug, jug, jug, and twee, twee, twee,
Most sweetly they did sing.

All you that either hear or read,
This Ditty is for your Delight;
'Tis of a pretty Country Maid,
And how she serv'd a Courtly Knight.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

This Courtly Knight, when Fields were green,
And @3Sol@1 did genial Warmth inspire;
A Farmer's Daughter late had seen,
Whose Face had set his Heart on Fire.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Oft to her Father's House he came,
And kindly was receiv'd there still;
The more be added to his Shame,
Since only 'twas to gain his Will.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

One Evening then, amongst the rest,
He came to visit this good Man;
But needs must know where @3Clara@1 was,
And heard she was a Milking gone.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Then call'd he for his pamper'd Steed,
With Pistols at his Saddle Bow;
And to the Meadow rode with Speed,
Where she was milking of her Cow.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Then down he lights, and ties his Horse,
And swore she must his Pain remove;
If not by fair Means, yet by Force,
Since he was dying for her Love.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

The pearly Tears, now trickling fall,
And from her fair bright Eyes do flow;
But that he heeded not at all,
But do's her strait the Pistols shew.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

But first pull'd out a fine gay Purse,
Well lin'd within, as she might see;
And cry'd, before it happens worse,
Be wise, and take a golden Fee.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Oh! keep your Purse, reply'd the Maid,
I will not take your golden Fee;
For well you hope to be repaid,
And greater Treasure take from me.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

A thund'ring Oath then out he sent,
That she should presently be Dead,
For were his Heart not eas'd, he meant
Point blank, to shoot her thro' the Head.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Then making haste to seize her went,
And laid the Fire Arms at her Feet;
Whilst @3Clara@1 seeing his Intent,
Has no recourse to Aid but Wit.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

She feigns a Smile, and clinging close,
Cry'd out, I've now your Courage try'd;
You've met no simple Country Mouse,
My Dear, you shall be satisfy'd.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring. @3&c.@1

My Father takes me for a Saint,
Tho' weary of my Maiden Geer;
That I may give you full Content,
Pray look, Sir Knight, the Coast be clear.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, @3&c.@1

Look out and see who comes and goes,
And you shall quickly have your Will,
For if my Father nothing knows,
Then I shall be a Maiden still.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

The witless Knight peeps o'er the Hedge,
As one well pleas'd with what he heard,
When she do's both the Pistols snatch,
And boldly stood upon her Guard.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

Keep off, keep off, Sir Fool, she cry'd,
And from this Spot of Ground retire,
For if one Yard to me you stride;
By my sav'd Maidenhead I fire.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

My Father once a Soldier was,
And Maids from Ravishers would free;
His Daughter too in such a Case,
Can shoot a Gun as well as he.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

For Sovereign too, when Foe invades,
Can on occasion bravely kill,
Not shoot like you at harmless Maids;
That won't obey your savage Will.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

Who when the good old Man, whose Cheer,
Shew'd welcome, tho' of little Cost,
A Rape thought on his Daughter dear,
Most grateful way to pay your Host.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the, @3&c.@1

Go home ye Fop, where Game's not dear,
And for half Crown a Doxey get,
But seek no more a Partridge here,
You cou'dn't keep, tho' in your Net.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flowry Spring. @3&c.@1

At this the Knight look'd like a Mome,
He prays, he sues, yet vain was all;
She soon convey'd the Trophies home,
And hung up in her Father's Hall.
@3Chorus.@1 'Twas in the flowry Spring, @3&c.@1


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