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Ten thouſand times over her weeping he lay,
He kiſs'd her cold lips that were colder than clay,
And that very minute his heart it did break,
And like a true lover he dy'd for her ſake.
You covetuous parents wherever you be,
Conſider the ſame, and lament you with me,
Let not gold or ſilver true lovers divide,
Leſt dreadful examples unto you betide.
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The W I D O W.
THE widow can bake, and the widow can brew,
The widow can ſhape, the widow can ſew,
And mony braw things the widow can do;
Then have at the widow my laddie.
With courage attack her baith early and late,
To kiſs her and clap her ye manna be blate,
Speak well and do better, and that's the beſt gate,
To win a young widow my laddie.
The widow ſhe's youthful, and never ae hair,
The war o' the wearing, and has a good ſkair,
Of every thing lovely, ſhe's witty and fair,
And has a rich jointer, my laddie.
What could you wiſh better your pleaſures to crown,
Than a widow, the bonnieſt toaſt in the town,
With naething, but draw in your ſtool and ſit down,
And ſport with the widow my laddie.
Then till’er and kill’er with courteſy dead,
Tho' ſtark love and kindneſs be all you can plead,
Be heartſome and airy and hope to ſuccced,
With a bonny gay widow my laddie.
Strike iron while 'tis hot, if ye'd have it to wauld,
For fortune ay favours the active and bauld,
But ruins the wooer that's thawieſs and cauld,
Unfit for the widow, my laddie.
