Scotch Lads Moan.
OR,
Pretty Moggies Unkindness.
To an excellent New Scotch Tune.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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A Lad oth Town that made his moan
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one Winters morning early,
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Alas! that I must lye alone,
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and Moggies bed so near me;
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All night I turn, and toss, and sigh,
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And never can I close my eyes,
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For thinking that I lig so nigh
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the Lass I love so dearly.
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Shes all Delight from foot to crown,
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and just sixteen her Age is,
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And that she still must lye alone,
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my heart and soul enragd is:
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Id give the World I might put on
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Each morn her stockings or her shoon;
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If I were but her serving-Loon,
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Id never ask for Wages.
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GIn Moggy woud but be my Bride,
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Id take no farther warning,
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Nor value au the world beside,
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nor other Lasses scorning;
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My love is grown up to the height,
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I prize so much my own delight,
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I care not, had I her one night,
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so I was dead ith morning.
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Geud faith, shes like a pretty Lass,
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I never saw a sweeter;
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She all her Sex does far surpass
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in Beauty and in Feature:
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Gin on her face I chancd to gaze,
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Her pretty looks such Charms displays,
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That I must ever speak her praise;
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Venus was not compleater.
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Whenever Moggy I espy,
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I lowly dof my Bonnet;
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And oft in her sweet company
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I sing a love-sick Sonnet:
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Yet she regardless of my pain,
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Which I strive to express in vain,
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Bids me forbear for to complain,
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and tell her no more on it.
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Ah waes me! Moggys to blame,
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not to grant my desire;
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Gin she did first create the flame
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which set my heart on fire.
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Was I a King of great Renown,
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And had a Scepter and a Crown,
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I at her feet woud lay them down,
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one night for to lig by her.
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Gin she so mickle is unkind,
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my life is grown uneasie;
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No rest nor quiet can I find,
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nor nothing that can please me.
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But if she still continues so,
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And no more kindness will bestow,
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To the Elizium shades I go;
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ah! Death will quickly seize me.
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