O Silly Love! O Cunning Love!

O silly love! O cunning love!         An old maid to trepan:         I cannot go about my work         For loving of a man.         I cannot bake, I cannot brew,         And, do the best I can,         I burn the bread and chill the mash,         Through loving of a man.         Shrove Tuesday last I tried, and tried,         To turn the cakes in pan,         And dropt the batter on the floor,         Through thinking of a man.         My mistress screamed, my master swore,         Boys cursed me in a troop;         The cat was all the friends I had,         Who helped to clean it up.         Last Christmas eve, from off the spit         I took the goose to table,         Or should have done, but teasing Love         Did make me quite unable;         And down slipt dish, and goose, and all         With din and clitter-clatter;         All but the dog fell foul on me;         He licked the broken platter.         Although I'm ten years past a score,         Too old to play the fool,         My mistress says I must give o'er         My service for a school.         Good faith! What must I do, and do,         To keep my service still;         I'll give the winds my thoughts to love,         Indeed and so I will.         And if the wind my love should lose,         Right foolish were the play,         For I should mourn what I had lost,         And love another day.         With crosses and with losses         Right double were the ill,         So I'll e'en bear with love and all,         Alack, and so I will.