Page:Excellent old song intitled, Maggy Lauther.pdf/5

 Court Bridget, or Sue, Kate, Nancy or Prue,

their loves will soon be won;

But don t ye dare to speak me fair,

As though I were at my last prayer,

To marry a farmer's son.

My father has riches in store.

Two hundred a year and more,

Besides sheep & cows, carts, harrows & plows,

His age is above threescore;

And when he gives way, then merrily I

Shall have what he has won:

Both land and kine, and all wilt be mine,

If thou'lt incline, and wilt be mine.

And marry a farmer’s son.

A fig for your cattle and corn.

You’re proffer’d'love I scorn;

’Tis known very well, my name is Nell,

And you’re but a bumkin born:

Well since it is so, away I will go.

And I hope no harm is done:

Farewel, adieu, I hope to woo,

As good as you, and win her too,

Tho' I'm but a farmer's son.

Be not in such haste, quoth she.

Perhaps we may agree,

For, man, I protest, I was but in jest,

Come, prithee sit down by me;

For thou art the man that verily can,

Perform what must it be done,

Both straight and tall, genteel withal;