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EBBA 30119

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
An ANSWER to the
Bonny SCOT;
Or, The Sorrowfull Complaint of the Yielding LASS;
In Care, and Grief, without Relief,
this yielding Lass was left;
In this Distress, and Heaviness
she was of Hopes bereft.
To the Tune of The Spinning-Wheel. Licensed according to Order.

BEhold, I pray, whats come to pass,
when twenty Weeks was come and gone,
This bonny youthful yielding Lass,
did sigh, and bitterly take on,
Saying, My Grief I may reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

With honey words, both soft and sweet,
alas! he has deluded me,
My Heart within my Breast does beat
to see my woful Destiny:
My Virgin Treasure he did steal;
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

Each Complement I did believe,
so Serpent-like he did betray,
That had there been a second Eve,
she hardly could have said him nay:
The sad effects of this I feel,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

He utterd not one word of Truth,
but with Delusions led me on;
And cropt the Rose-bud of my Youth;
so that my splendid Glorys gone:
My wounded Heart no one can heal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

I Am a Damsel now defild;
and am exposd to open shame,
For here I find my-self with Child,
and have no Father for the same:
My very Tears dos Grief reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

For my young Scot sad moan I make,
whose Beauty did my favour win;
I find him like a painted Snake,
thats fair without, and false within:
His cruel Sting I yet do feel,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

He came with a most noble Grace,
so sweet, so charming, fair and trim,
That I no sooner see his Face,
but streight I did consent to him:
Such flames of Love I then did feel,
Which made me leave my Spinning-Wheel.

My Love no favour will allow,
hes gone, and yields me no relief;
For that small dram of Pleasure, now
I feel a Hundred weight of Grief:
My Sorrows I cannot reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.

Some Gallants most deceitful are,
as by Experience I may say,
Theyll call a Damsel charming Fair,
until their Hearts they do betray:
In grief I may this truth reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.


FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden-Ball
in Pye-corner.

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