The Pope's knavery, or, Old Nick's invention (1)/The Maid in Bedlam

The Maid in Bedlam.

One morning very early,
one morning in the spring,
I heard a maid in Bedlam,
who mournfully did sing,
Her chains she rattled in her hands,
while sweetly thus sung she,
I love my love, because I know
my love loves me.

Oh! cruel were his parents,
who sent my love to sea,
And cruel, cruel was the ship,
that bore my love from me.
Yet I love his parents since they're his
although they’ve ruin’d me:
And I love my love, because I know
my love loves me.

O should it please the pitying powers,
to call me to the sky,
I’d claim a guardian angel’s charge,
around my love to fly,
To ⟨guard⟩ him from all dangers,
how happy should I be!
For I love my love, because I know
my love loves me.

⟨I'll⟩ make a strawy garlands
I’ll make it wondrous fine,
With roses, lillies, daises,
I'll mix the eglantine;
And I’ll present it to my love,
when he returns from sea,
For ⟨I⟩ love my love, because I know
my love loves me.

O! if I was a little bird
to build upon his breast,
Or if I was a nightingale,
to sing my love to rest;
To gaze upon his lovely eyes,
all my reward shou'd be,
For I love my love, because I know
my love loves me.