Read Ebook: An Address to a Wealthy Libertine or the Melancholy Effects of Seduction; with a Letter from an Unfortunate Farmer's Daughter to her Parents in Norfolk by Parkerson James

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Walker, Printer, near the Duke's Palace, Norwich.

An Address, &c.

My pen I take, my wretched fate to state, Pardon, oh pardon, tho' a vile ingrate; Your daughter late so innocent and gay, Was by a vile seducer led astray From those chase precepts by you taught to know, That he who sets above knows all below; Either on earth or in the heavenly skies, Each substance falls or as he wishes rise. I fell a victim to unchaste desires, And feel those sorrows vengeance now requires, After I left a parent's house and home, Induced with wicked Henry to roam; That sweet society my bosom knew, From me that instant bade a long adieu. Time, I much fear, will not that balm restore; Its fled from me and will return no more. I know that sweet compassion fills your mind, And to forgiveness ever was inclin'd; Take then your daughter to your arms again, And she from latent vices will abstain. With pious thoughts she'll pass the day away, Till stern reproof is banish'd far away; Too well I know that censure will appear, In every mansion when Maria's there; Soon as the vengeance of her sting is cast, The scoffers arrogance no longer last; Too true I know that woes I'm doom'd to bear, The unfeeling frown the virgin's haughty sneer; In time they'll vanish when its known I rove, In virtue's path with innocence and love. My prayers I'll offer to the throne on high, And live as ordered by the Deity. Lately I met my Mother's upper maid, To ask her questions I was much afraid; Yet ere I bade the honest girl adieu, Nature compell'd me to inquire of you: She said my mother fell a prey to grief, And that no medicine could give relief; In stating this a tear escaped her eye. Return she cried, then heaved a tender sigh: I will return and ere her spirits fled, Press my lov'd mother on her couch or bed. For pity's sake write me a line to say, If I to you may speedy bend my way; This boon is all I ask and now I crave, A parent's blessing ere I meet the grave.

My pen but faintly can declare, The virtues of his mind; Well he deserves the friendly tear, From those he leaves behind.

Dissimulation could not rest A moment on his face, No wicked thoughts annoy'd his breast, Nor envy found a place.

To friends and neighbours was sincere, He cheerful pass'd the day; His memory many will revere, Till they are call'd away.

Enough I cannot say of him, The reason's very plain; But few were so devoid of sin, No better here remain.

Quite well he knew the ways of life, Performed one noble plan, Avoiding things that brought or strife, And justice did to man.

His conversation sweetly pure, For prudence led the way; None but those he could endure, Who would her strains obey.

Once on a time by ills oppress'd, I asked his friendly aid; He lull'd my anxious mind to rest, And sorrow quick dismayed.

At Pulham market, left behind, Those friends he did revere; To every stranger they are kind To friendship are sincere.

No party spirit there can dwell, A day within that place; They bid her give a long farewell, Nor dare to show her face.

The humble tradesman can retire, If pleasure leads his mind; Beside the wealthy farmer's fire, And gain attention kind.

The labouring poor will seldom part, From those that him employ; Good usage animates the heart, And bitter thoughts destroy.

In the gay village all around, A little cot you'll find, Behind it is the garden ground, To please the tenants' mind.

Seldom is rais'd the tasker's cot, Not often turn'd away; No murmuring on his master's spot, He cheerful him obey.

The farmer's wife the poor supply, With barm and milk beside, To do them good each other vie, To serve them is their pride.

The humble and the wealthy sing To Albion's long success; Good news for England pleasure bring, And adverse gales distress.

Again on Page my humble strains, With melancholy dwell; To tell the grief and heart felt pains, To bid a long farewell.

It's gratitude that urge the pen, It's friendship leads the way; To speak the virtues of a man, That death has call'd away.

Oh may his spirit ever rest, Beside the God of all, And ever number'd with the blest, Till he shall judge us all.

Death brought no terrors to his heart, For resignation staid, Till from his life he should depart, And lent her cheering aid.

Oh God he cried I've no pretence, To think election sure; Cleanse, cleanse my soul, ere I go hence And join me with the pure.

POLITICAL SURGEON.

Tune--"The Exciseman."

In a country village that's near, A very good market for beef; Thro' a lane a neat mansion appear, Whose owner can give you relief.

No one in the place doubts his skill, Due attention he pays to the poor, To them he'll diminish his bill; If adversity stands at the door.

I fear he brain fevers increase, To those that are fond of the state, To upbraid it he seldom will cease, And will its mishaps glad relate.

To men that are loyal and brave; Such stuff will but faintly go down, All judge it the trick of a knave, That endeavour to harass the crown.

When a man is well known to be poor, Such gammon he'll cram in your ear, Yet when the wolf's fled from his door, He a different thing will appear.

The time that I stated 'twas thought, He scarcely could raise half a crown, And some people say not a groat, Till a lady arrived in the town.

But soon he found money in hand, Enough for to purchase a farm, Of two hundred acres of land, Which did all his cravings disarm.

He attended me once to ease pain; I found him a man very wise; Awhile would my patience detain; To tell me the stocks could not rise.

He said that the state was so poor, A bankrupt it soon would be found, I told him to state it no more His noddle I feared was unsound.

The camelion its colours oft change, And so can the doctor his plan, To loyalty's converse can range, To suit any very rich man.

With the ladies he neatly can toy, I mean quite by decency's rule; Yet his nonsense the wiser annoy, Of sagacity's plan but a tool.

A more sober man cannot be, For water is chief of his drink; He is very well liked on by me, I'm always for purple and pink.

CHEERFUL ISAAC.

Tune--"The Wedding Day."

Isaac lives in a cottage near the road side, He envies not Princes or Kings, Unacquainted with splendor no lover of pride, He says it oft poverty brings.

Trudges all day with his plough void of care, At eve to the village he flies, In hopes a good ditty or story to hear; For those all his wishes supplies.

Sometimes his noddle so dizzy is grown, That he cannot exact his path find; Yet Isaac is nettled whenever tis known, Slaves to old Bacchus go blind.

True friendship he loves and friendly to all, That dame fortune e'er send to his door; With a glass of strong ale welcome them all, Tho' it be from the labouring poor.

His wife is at all times as anxious to send, Her boon were distress points the way; To the needy she is daily a friend, Her efforts oft poverty stay.

They trudge on united unblemished by art, She delights in the dairy and cow; From the first dawn of morn till phoebus depart, While Isaac's engaged with the plough.

No worthier couple dwell far around, Good nature in them can be seen; In their happy retreat mirth wide abound, Unknown to ill nature or spleen.

May Isaac and many that live near the town, This Christmas most cheerfully meet; To chat o'er a glass at the Falcon or Crown, Join'd by others that at dwell in the street.

At Pulham Market, this motto remain, Let us always be merry thro' life, Drink success to our King again and again, To banish dull care pain and strife.

The tear of regret was observed all around, When our neighbour and friend was consigned to the ground; If penury hung round the Cottager's door, He ne'er would forget to remember the poor. So cheerful in converse you always would find, Neither spleen or ill nature could harass his mind; Till age made its inroads he'd join with the gay, At manly amusements to gladden the day. In most friendly meetings for him they would call, For I can say with truth he was liked by us all; Good news for his country would him much pleasure bring, For no subject in Britain rever'd more his King. His conduct and actions would plainly foretell, As a husband or parent but few did excel. He was always a friend to the labouring poor, To serve them at all times no one could strive more. In all parish concerns he was found to be just, And ne'er was the man that dishonoured his trust, May the Angel that note all our errors above, Blot out our lov'd friends thro' angelical love: May his spirit be numbered with those of the blest, The moment grim death planted darts in his breast. May his Children be strangers to every strife, That too frequent attend many mortals thro' life; And when it shall choose the Almighty to call Them from earthly troubles may he pardon them all.

THE VALIANT CAPTAIN.

Tune.--"Derry Down."

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