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Courtship & marriage

New royal fortuneteller

(3) New royal fortuneteller

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Being a warning to Old and Young, Rich and Poor, Married and Single, but
particularly to Young Men and Women, who by perusing this may
be suited with Good Husbands and Wives.

All you who wish your fortunes for to know,
Unto Astrologers you need not go,
Your destinies I can explain at large,
One single penny is my highest charge.
'Tis not by moles or marks that J foreknow,
Or by the wrinkles in your palm I go,
I cut no cards nor twirl the coffee cup,
Nor ask the stars, nor raise the devil up,
I show the way your fortunes to explain,
All other methods are but false and vain,
Taught but by knaves, and but believed by fools,
By which designs men make you their tools.

'Tis none but silly girls and foolish fellows,
That spend their money on the fortunetellers,
Those silly dolts enquire and would be told,
If they shall die when they are young or old,
Do you to bed oft tipsy go at night,
Are you to quarrel prone, or apt to fight ?
Do you each morning lie too long in bed ?
Are you by lust among the vicious led ?
Had you long life you'd spend it to no good,
And thus to live 'twere pity that you should.

You ask the question, shall I e'er get rich ?
I'm a shrewd guesser though I am no witch,
Why should you not if you industrious are ?
Contented also with a moderate share.
Must you desire no less than horse and gig,
Some think themselves rich with cow and pig,
If you had what by idleness you've lost,
And all that 'bacco and your liquor cost,
If this was laid up in a corner sly,
No doubt a cow and pig it soon would buy,
If of your money no more care you take,
Than spend it wasteful at a fair or wake,
No influence of star or gipsey witch,
Nor all that wise men do or say can make you rich.

But the fortune young women want to know,
Is, shall I get married, yes or no?
Some are in haste and eagerly ask, when?
And cry, how senseless are those cruel men !
Now I can tell you if brought to the test,
Perhaps your temper is not of the best,
To tell the truth if I may be so bold,
The men are fearful lest you prove a scold,
Do you take snuff, tobacco, smoke, drink gin,
To marry you would almost be a sin,
Have you got sweathearts, some think it a crime,
To encourage more than one at a time.
And though you have, yet nevertheless,
He may think you too flaunting in your dress.

You wear fine feathers, muff and veil beside,
What wonders then the men should fear your pride,
Times are far worse, our aged grandams say,
Since women are so fond of dressing gay,
Knitting or spinning now you seldom meet,
But milliners' shops abound in every street,
Your fortune Miss we easily can trace,
In clothings gay, fine ribband and in lace,
That this fair tawdry show will soon wear out,
And that it costs much money none can doubt,
If you had worn but what was neat and clean,
Richer and more respected you had been,
Your fortune now I'll tell you in a crack,
'Tis carried on your stiff unbending back.

Young women must dress decent that I grant,
But pride's as loud a beggar as is want,
These flashy folks I know it to my sorrow,
Oft times put off with call again to-morrow,
Although they dress themselves so very fine,
Some of their pockets ate as low as mine.
Some wear sleeves and on their breast a locket,
They have not got a shilling in their pocket,
Some of these fine folks have often been known
To put their Sunday finery in pawn,
But a very few have to a pawnbroker's gone,
With a plain dress and checked apron on,
These make the best wives for I have tried,
To pay their way it is their honest pride;
To find fault there would be less occasion,
If women dressed according to their station.
Some dames where they good entertainment find,
Will often visit and seem very kind,
They ask how do you do with smiling faces,
But circumstances often alter cases,
If you've grown indigent and sickly too,
These gossips they will cease to visit you ;
And some malicious people choose to say,
They like to drink but do not wish to pay.
Some wives that can afford a drop of gin,
Are sure to have it after lying in,
One comes and asks how she the night did pass,
The bottle's ready, she must have a glass,
Oh! what a pretty babe, another cries,
It's daddy's picture, see its nose and eyes!
Unto the wives I think I've said enough,
Excuse my language, it is rather rough ;
And you old dames who gossiping have gone,
If the cap fits you may put it on.
George Walker, Jun., Printer, Sadler-Street, Durham.

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