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EBBA 30918

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
JENNYs Lamentation
For the loss of her JEMMY.
She wanderd up and down for Love,
Till she was weary grown,
Then sate down in a shady Grove,
and thus she made her moan.
Tune of, Jenny Gin, or Busie Fame.

A[h] Woes me! poor harmless Maid,
my hopes are quite undone,
For J[e]mmy he is from me fled,
who onst I thought my own:
Alas! hes gone for evermore
from her who lovd him well,
Who will his memory adore,
whilest upon Earth I dwell.

Ah! cruel Swain, that thou shoud prove
so perjurd to thy Love,
To make her wander in this Grove,
like to the Turtle Dove,
Who losing of her Mate, does pine;
and moane it self to death;
So I shall murmure to the wind
as long as I have breath.

Could thou so faithless prove to one
that gave to thee her heart;
Remember but the Oathes thoust sworn
that we shoud never part:
You kist my hand, and squezd it hard,
and swore and vowd that I
Should ever you of love debar,
immediately you dye.

But Jemmy when you hear Im gone,
and that for you I dyd,
Your conquest then will soon be done
when once your Charms are tryd:
Ile pray to Cupid, tho hes blind,
that he will shute his dart,
And make thee love one thats unkind:
and so to break thy heart.

I wish the times I saw thee first
had been my Burial day,
Then I had ner had cause to curst,
nor any one to say:
Ah! Jenny, thou that onst was thought
the glory of the Plain,
Was by a faithless Shepherd caught,
and by his falshood slain.

But farewell cruel perjurd Swain,
for evermore adieu;
Unto the gods I will complain
how faithless and untrue,
How much like them that he was made;
in every part divine;
Yet has his shepherdess betrayd,
and does his vows decline.

Be witness gods I had no fault
except I lovd too well,
My heart ner thought of a revoult,
and that my eyes can tell:
Let all young maids by me be warnd,
and keep intire their Love,
For fear when onst their hearts are charmd
they wander in this Grove.

She had no sooner said this word
but down the Damzel fell,
And said, good-by my dearest Lord,
in whom all beauties dwell:
Then fetching of a dreadful groan,
unto the winds she spoke,
Bear these my last words to my Love;
and then her heart-strings broke.


Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield

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