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EBBA 22103

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
The Scotch Lass Deceiv'd
By her Bonny L[a]d JOCKEY.
To a New Scotch Tune of Mr. Farmers. Th[is] ma[y] [b]e Printed, R.P.

[1]
WHen cold Winter Storms were past,
And every Mead with Flowers was grac'd
My Jockey then as fine as May,
With Bonnet cockt up, and a Feather so gay,
Each day came to me,
To Cog, Lye and Sue me,
To flatter and Wooe me,
But I, alas! believ'd too soon;
And at last found him to be a false Loon;
To my sorrow.

[2]
Early when the God of Day,
Had just in the Eastern Skies made way;
Then Jockey came to my Bed-side,
Wolt gang tull a Kirk, says he, and be my Bride?
I answer'd, Marry,
Ise not ready for ye,
Ise mean for to tarry,
And first for our Wedding provide,
Then Wed with Jockey, and lig by his side;
To delight him.

[3]
On my Breast he lean'd his Head,
And thrust down his Hand into the Bed;
Then I cry'd out, O see, O see,
Thou art sike a Loon as I never did see;
My bonny Jockey,
I never yet took ye
To be so Unlucky,
To hurt the Lass you love so well;
Who never beneath a bonny Lad fell
In my life Sir.

[4]
Ise got in a gude merry Mude,
He thought it was time then to be Rude;
He kindly stroakt my Downy Wem,
And farther proceeded; O then, O then;
I cry'd, nay, look ye,
Nay, pray thee now Jockey,
Be not so Unlucky,
For after you will not abide,
To take sike a bonny Lass to your Bride;
I am sure on't.

[5]
When my Jockey the deed had done,
He rose from the Bed and wou'd have bin gone;
I caught him by'th' Breeks, and askt him to wed
'Tis Marriage enough, says he, for us to Bed;
And so did he leave me,
Which greatly did grieve me,
He thus should deceive me,
And then quit his Courtship so soon;
But if I trust sike another false Loon,
Deel take me.

[6]
Bonny Lasses all take care,
No Lads e're delude ye into sike a Snare;
For if they once creep into your Bed,
You never must after expect them to Wed;
What words they scatter,
They never make matter,
'Tis only to flatter,
For when the Loon his Will has had,
You may look out for another sike Lad,
For he'l leave you.


Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in Py[e]-Corner, near West-Smithfield. 1688.

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