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EBBA 33326

National Library of Scotland - Crawford
Ballad XSLT Template
Joans sorrowfull Lamentation:
OR,
False-hearted John's Unkindness to her, at her
time of Distress.
To the Tune of Let Mary live long.
Licensed according to Order.

COme hither sweet John,
and let me discover,
the Smiles of a Lover,
A right honest Man
I hope you will prove:
For I love thee as Life,
And wou'd fain be thy Wife,
remember thy Vow;
Behold my Condition,
Behold my Condition,
Love marry me now.

Then John he reply'd,
sweet Joan you must tarry,
I mean not to marry,
Why should I be ty'd
to sorrow and noise?
I can live at my ease,
And walk where I please,
where Pleasures do flow;
But if I was married,
But if I was married,
I must not do so.

I never will scold,
my dearest believe me,
ah! why shou'd thou grieve me,
Here's Silver and Gold,
and pleasure my dear;
If to Love thou'lt incline,
Thou shalt have what is mine,
Remember thy Vow,
You see my condition,
You see my condition,
Love marry me now.

John merrily smil'd,
with this pleasant Greeting,
said he, My dear sweeting,
Why art thou with Child?
Yes Johnny she cry'd,
You remember the day,
We together did play
Remember your Vow,
You see my condition,
You see my condition,
Love marry me now.

I tell you sweet Joan,
thou hast no great reason,
to sigh at this Season,
Or make this sad moan
for such a small Crime:
'Tis in vain to be sad,
Rejoice and be glad,
Let thanks be exprest,
You'll now be a Mother,
You'll now be a Mother,
as well as the best.

You laugh me to scorn,
the which makes my trouble
full seven times double.
My Life is forlorn,
ah! where shall I go,
You've forgot what you swore,
When you seem'd to adore,
my amorous Charms;
I wish I had never
I wish I had never
been claspt in thy Arms.

Pray where's the harm done,
if you have hereafter,
a pretty sweet Daughter,
Or tattling Son
to dandle about?
Yes Dearest, she cry'd,
If I might be thy Bride,
my Joys wou'd remain,
I shou'd have no reason,
I shou'd have no reason,
sweet John to complain.

Before I wou'd yield,
what Vows did you make me,
you'd never forsake me,
And Love you'd reveal'd,
ah! have you forgot,
How you swore by your Life
I should soon be your Wife,
come think on this John,
And now let me find you,
And now let me find you,
a right honest Man.


Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in Pye-Corner.

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