Welch Ballad

I pray when your sweetheart pouts, And fleers, and flouts, And glours, and glouts, Ne'er mind the pursing of her prow, But pout again I pray you now,

Is it not true that females fex, Plague, and perplex The other sex, With whimsies in their heads that grow, And fantisies I pray you now?

Rack poor men's powels, prains, and hearts, Do not their arts, And whims, and starts, Plue tiffles in their heads that crow, And jealousies I pray you now?

Then mind not nonsense of the fair, But change your air, And shake off care; Nor to their tricks and fancies pow, But let them ko I pray you now.