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Let the Miſer then hug up his ill gotten Pelf,
And to feed empty bags, he may ſtarve his ownſelf,
Let the Lover ſtill languiſh ’twixt hope & deſpair,
And doat on a face as inconſtant as fair
But ſtill may his bliſs be as great as his ſoul,
Who pays no devoir but to Wine and the Bowl.
The LAMENTING MAIDEN.
Ye maids, wives. & widows alſo, give attention,
Unto theſe few lines, tho’ diſmal to mention ;
I’m a maiden diſtracted, in the deſerts i'll rove,
To the gods I’ll complain for the loſs of my love.
chorus
Broken-hearted I wander, broken-hearted I wander,
My bonny light-horſemen is ſlain in the war.
Had I wings like an eagle; ſo quickly I’d fly,
To the very ſpot where my true-love did die.
On his grave would I flutter my outſtretch’d wings,
And kiſs his cold lips over and over again.
Two years & two months ſince he left England’s
My bonny light-horſeman that I did adore; (ſhore,
O why was I born, the ſad day for to ſee, (me.
When the drum beat to arms & did force him from
Not a Lord, Duke or Earl could my love exceed.
Nor a more finer youth for his King e’er did bleed.
When mounted on horſe he ſo pay did appear,
And by all his regiment reſpected he were.
Like the dove that doth mourn when it looſes its
So will I for my love, till I die for his ſake, (mate.
Not a man on this earth my affections ſlall gain,
I’ll a maid live and die for my love that was ſlain.
Printed by J. & M, Robortſon, Saltmarket, 1802.
