Tom Farthing: OR, The Married VVomans Complaint.

To a New Tune, well known by the same Name.
Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing,
Where hast thou bin? Tom Farthing?
Twelve a clock e're thou come in,
Four or five e're thou begin,
Lye all night and do nothing,
'Twould make a woman weary, weary,
'Twould make a women weary.
Hadst thou bin a lively Lad,
And gi'n me part of what thoud'st had,
It would have made my heart full glad:
And made me wondrous merry, merry,
And made, &c.
But thou art a Country clown,
Sometimes up and sometimes down;
Still doing what was never yet done,
'Twould make a woman, sorry, sorry,
'Twould, &c.
Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing,
Thou bungler art, Tom Farthing,
Was ever Woman fumbled so,
With always bobbing too and fro,
Now too high, and now too low,
'Twould make a woman weary, weary,
'Twould &c.
If thou hadst but held me to't,
With hip and lip, and leg and foot,
Besides the other thing to boot,
'Twould have made me wondrous merry, merry,
'Twould, &c.
But rivel'd up like Chitterlin,
Thou'rt sometimes out and, sometimes in
And all thou dost's not worth a pin,
Which makes me wondrous sorry, sorry,
Which makes me wondrous sorry.

The second Part,

to the same Tune.
TOm Farthing, Tom Farthing,
Thou mak'st me mad, Tom Farthing,
'Twas not for this I did thee wed,
Nor brought thee to my marriage bed,
But 'twas to lose my Maiden-head,
Of which i'm wondrous weary, weary,
Of which I am wondrous weary.
Could'st thou once but do the feat,
And shew thy self to be no cheat,
My very heart with joy would beat,
And 'twould make me wondrous merry, merry,
And &c.
But by thy side thou idle droan,
I lie like one that lies alone,
And remedy I can get none,
Which makes me wondrous sorry sorry,
Which makes me wondrous sorry.
Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing,
Farewel, farewel, Tom Farthing,
Since by thee it can't be done,
I'le now go pick of anothers bone,
For meat from thee I can get none,
Which makes me wondrous weary, weary
Which &c.
And though a Womans such, you cry,
That no one can her wants supply,
I'le find out one shall satisfie;
And make me wondrous merry, merry,
And &c.
For since thou never yet hast don't
I'le bid no more, a pox upon't,
But venture let what will come on't,
And never more be sorry sorry,
And &c.
Tom Farthing, Tom Farthing,
A warning be Tom Farthing,
Hence forward that no woman take,
A Fumbler for Tom Farthings sake:
Unless she will him Cuckold make,
For he'l make her damnable wearry, weary
For he'l make, &c.
But if a Husband must be had,
Try him first or else you'r mad,
Then should he prove a capering Lad,
He'l make you wondrous merry, merry,
And of him you'l ne'r be weary.

Printed for P. Prooksby, at the Golden-hall, near the Hospital-gate, in West-smithfield.

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