If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid

    If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
    To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
    For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
    But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.

    A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
    That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
    A widow is froward, and never will yield;
    Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.

    A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
  But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
  A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
  And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.

    A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
  When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
  But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
  And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.

    The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
  But too well all their beauty they know to display;
  But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
  She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.

    Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
  If to marry with any I be not afraid;
  But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
  And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.