THE
Scotch Lover's Complaint:
OR,
Jockey's Lamentation
FOR
His unkind Usage by his coy Lady,
AT
EPSOM-WELLS.
To a new Tune, much in Request.
Licensed according to Order.
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WAe's me! what mun I do?
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Drinking water I may rue,
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Since my heart so muckle harm befel,
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Wounded by a bonny Lass at Epsom-well:
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Ise have been at Dalking Fair,
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See'ng the charming faces there:
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But aw Scotland now geud Faith defie
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Sike a lip to she, and a lovely rowling eye;
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Jenny's skin was white, her fingers small;
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Moggy she was slender. strait and tall,
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But my Love here bears away the bell from all:
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For her I sigh, for her I die in despair;
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Never Man in Woman took such joy,
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Never Woman was to Man so coy:
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She'll not be my Hony,
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For my love nor mony;
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Well-a-day! what torment mun I bear?
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When Ise came to Epsom-wells,
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Where this charming Beauty dwells,
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Ise began to cast my eyes a-round,
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Then Ise quickly did receive this fatal wound,
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From her straight there flew a dart,
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Which did pierce me to the heart;
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Then to her Ise made my humble suit,
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With a most graceful carage and a sweet salute;
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Then Ise whisper'd in my Lady's ear,
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Ise had house and land with muckle geer,
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But away she flew, and would not me come near,
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Ise follow'd her, with cap in hand, to obtain
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Favour, if so kind a thing might be,
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But she flew the swifter still from me;
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Yet at length Ise seiz'd her,
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Thinking to have pleas'd her,
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She return'd a frown of high disdain.
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Bonny Lady, then Ise cry'd,
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Sit thee down by Jockey's side,
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Who has somthing more, my Dear, to say,
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Let us kiss and pass the pleasant time away,
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Underneath this bower green;
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Thou art like a beautious Queen,
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Scotland never bred the like of thee,
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Then as I am a Lord of muckle high degree,
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Ise will thee maintain in sattins fine,
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Nay, thou shalt in gold and silver shine,
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Tell me, bonny Lady, wilt thou then be mine?
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But she reply'd, I need not talk any more,
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For my proffers great the vallu'd not,
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Nor would she embrace a High-land Scot:
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Oh! that killing story
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Blasted all my glory,
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Never did Ise feal such grief before.
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Ise got up and gang'd away,
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Having nothing more to say,
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But Ise ever since have felt such grief,
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Which has carry'd me, alas! beyond relief;
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Had I stay'd in Aberdene,
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Ise this Lady had no seen,
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Which is the cause of all my woe,
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And I fear will prove Jockey's final overthrow:
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Epsom-wells, this day, I bid adieu,
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Since my coming there I needs must rue,
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You have Beauties fair but they are cruel too:
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Home Ise return with the torment Ise endure,
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Where Ise court young Jenny to be kind,
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For to ease the anguish of my mind;
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She's better then a Beauty,
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That will not own her duty,
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Such a one my wounded heart may cure.
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