Ballad—in the Gipsies

Come here, ye fair; come here each lover, That lot Dame Fortune would conceal, But cross my hand, and I'll discover: I'm mistress of her and her wheel.

To trembling age we boldly promise, In spight of nature, years of health; Widows receive new husbands from us, And young men all their fathers' wealth.

We give the fair, Love's influence under, Young lovers, constant all ther lives; Nay, we e'en dare—a greater wonder— To promise husbands faithful wives.