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 mindA 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 roseWhen 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.
