Joans sorrowful Lamenta- tion to ROGER, Who she thought was going to leave her and Marry Kate; together with Rogers kind Answer, which gave her great satisfaction. Tune is, The Spinning-Wheel. Licensed according to Order.
|
AS Jone was walking ore the Green,
|
she met young Roger brisk and gay,
|
As soon as he by her was seen,
|
with melting Eyes she thus did say:
|
Why do you strive to baffle me,
|
Am I not Flesh and Blood, said she.
|
I heard of late, you Courted Kate,
|
and vowd that she should be your Bride,
|
Why do you serve me at this rate,
|
my Flames I can no longer hide:
|
A Twelve-month you have courted me,
|
Am I not Flesh and Blood, said she.
|
I hear you gave her Cakes and Ale,
|
with many other pleasant toys;
|
While I my sorrows do bewail,
|
as being robbd of all those joys:
|
Come, Roger, this must never be,
|
For I am flesh and blood, said she.
|
You promisd her a Wedding-Ring,
|
nay gave her huggs and kisses store;
|
Saying you had a better thing,
|
but that you promisd me before:
|
I cant forget your Villany,
|
For I am flesh and blood, says she.
|
I Was your Fellow-servant long,
|
and lovd you too it is well known;
|
How can you then in Conscience wrong
|
your dear intire sweet-heart Joan?
|
Have some regard to pitty me,
|
For I am flesh and blood, said she.
|
When I fed you with Curds and Cream,
|
and you did likewise kindness show:
|
I then, alas, did little Dream
|
that ever youd a servd me so:
|
But now vouchsafe to pitty me,
|
For I am flesh and blood, said she.
|
Last Easter you did swear and vow
|
youd prove to me an honest Man;
|
I put this to your conscience now,
|
deny it, Roger, if you can:
|
Why are you then unkind to me,
|
Am I not flesh and blood, says she.
|
By Right I sigh, instead of sleep,
|
my heart is so with grief opprest,
|
While you her company do keep,
|
alas, it breaks me of my rest:
|
Come, Roger, this must never be,
|
For I am flesh and blood, said she.
|
At length young Roger thus replyd,
|
I will be true to thee alone;
|
And if I ever wed a Bride,
|
it shall be thee my sweet-heart Joan:
|
Now dry up all thy tears, said he,
|
For I love none alive but thee.
|
My Dear, this is a false report,
|
which some has raisd to make thee grieve
|
But I no other Lass did court,
|
if that my word you will believe;
|
Then dry up all thy tears, said he,
|
For I love none alive but thee.
|
It is not Kate that shall deprive
|
my Jewel of her constant Love:
|
Nor ner another Lass alive,
|
for I will ever constant prove:
|
Appoint the Day, well Marryd be,
|
For I love none alive but thee.
|
|
|
|
|
|