7
Yet hats from bonnets might retire,
And you never shall be my dearie, O.
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.
