THE WEAVER'S DAUGHTER.
It was in the charming fine summer weather,
When Flora yields a fine fragrant scene,
A brisk young squire with his hat and feather,
Into the town of Norris went.
And there he tarried—much gold he carried;
He spied a damsel beautiful and fair,
The maid he fancied, her name was Nancy,
A weaver's daughter that lived there.
He fix'd his ogling eyes upon her,
With every motion for to enjoy;
He often crav'd her of her honour,
But modest Nancy was something coy.
He often courted, and likewise sported,
And in his arms did her enfold;
He said, my dear Nancy, if you please my fancy,
I will give you a chain of gold.
I would not blemish your reputation
For all the favours you could bestow,
I mean to live in an honest station,
No man alive shall serve me so.
Keep your laces—your kind embraces,
Such silly trifles won't my fancy move;
Till death I'll tarry—unless I marry,
No man alive shall my ruin prove.
Although that I am but a weaver's daughter,
I think as much of myself, she cried,
As those who make it their whole endeavour
To kiss for gold, and in coaches ride;
Their cheeks are painted, their bodies tainted,
Prove the bad effects of their wanton love;
But until death I'll tarry—unless that I marry,
There are none on earth my ruin shall prove.
The London youth he stood amaz'd,
And for a season nothing said;
All on her amorous beauty gaz'd,
At length to her these words he said:—
I was in France—ay, and in Flanders,
And all around this fine Irish shore;
I met with ladies and great commanders,
But a match for Nancy I ne'er saw before.
Her friends and neighbours wore all acquainted
Of this great match that was in hands,
The wedding-day it was appointed,
He crown’d his love with house and lands.
Mirth and weavers, pipes and tabors,
Great joy he had for to crown his love,
That day they wedded—and at night they bedded,
And a loving couple they did prove.