Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A MILK-MAID SINGS, by THOMAS D'URFEY



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A MILK-MAID SINGS, by            
First Line: Twas in the flowery spring
Last Line: Chorus. 'twas in the flowry spring, &c.


Chorus. '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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring. &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flow'ry Spring, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the, &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flowry Spring. &c.

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.
Chorus. 'Twas in the flowry Spring, &c.




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