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.