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 His carriage neat, his limbs compleat,

and all his frame commodious,

When he doth ſing, the woods do ring,

his voice is ſo melodious.

O guardian angels be his guide,

defend him from all harms,

Let no hard fortune him betide,

in any wars alarms.

Should he be ſlain on Boſton plain,

where cannons roar like thunder,

Then death wou'd eaſe me of my pain,

and break my heart aſunder.

Although my love has croſs'd the main,

'twas what he ne'er intended,

I hope to ſee him once again,

whene'er the wars are ended:

When all my griefs will turn to joy,

when he is in my arms,

Then I'll invite my darling boy,

and treat him with my charms.

s I walked out one morning in May,

when-groves are green and vallies gay,

Where tender Flora ſent her ſhow'rs,

Beſpangling all the fields with flow'rs.

My heart being light I free did rove,

Not knowing of the pain of love,

In homely attire I did perceive,

An admirable beauteous country maid.