8
Yet the fairest of lasses, that all those surpasses.
Is Jenny, the maid of the moor.
Sweet Jenny, dear Jenny,
Sweet Jenny, the maid of the moor.
The lasses of Scotland are fam’d far and near;
The maidens of Erin breathe love;
The sweet girls of Britain to Britons are dear,
And soft as the down on the dove.
Still the fairest of lasses, that all those surpasses,
Is Jenny, the maid of the moor.
Sweet Jenny, dear Jenny,
Sweet Jenny, the maid of the moor.
CEASE YOUR FUNNING.
Cease your funning, force or cunning
Never shall my heart trepan:
All these sallies are but malice,
To seduce my constant man.
’Tis most certain, by their flirting,
Women oft have envy shown;
Pleas’d to ruin other’s wooing,
Never happy in their own.
KILMARNOCK:
Printed for the Booksellers.
