The Very Pretty Maid of This Town, and the Amorous ’Squire, Amorous ’Squire, Not One Hundred Miles From the Place
“I do not seek to quench your love’s hot fire, but qualify the fire’s extreme rage, lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.”—Shakespeare.
A pretty maid both kind and fair,
Dwells in this very town,
Her pleasant smiles and easy air,
Engages fop and clown.
Being accosted t’other day,
By a clumsy ’squire,
Who ask’d her if she knew the way
To quench a raging fire.
Water, Sir, reply’d the maid,
Will quench it in a trice,
O no, said he, you little jade,
I’ve try’d that once or twice.
Then Sir, said she, ’tis past my skill,
To tell you what will do;
I’m sure, said he, you know what will;
There’s nothing can but you.
Alas-a-day, what do you mean,
Reply’d the pretty fair;
I’d have you try it once again,
You never should despair.
Despair I cannot, cry’d the ’squire,
While you are in my sight,
’Tis you must quench the burning fire,
You set it first alight.
Then strait he clas’p her round the waist,
And forc’d from her a kiss;
Ho! ho! said she, is that your tale,
Then pray you, Sir, take this.
And with a pail, placed at the door,
She sluic’d the amorous ’squire;
You’re welcome, Sir, to this and more,
To quench your raging fire.