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 Yet hats from bonnets might retire,

And you never shall be my dearie, O.





It was in the charming fine summer weather,

When Flora yields a fine fragrant scene,

A brisk young squire with his hat and feather,

Into the town of Norris went.

And there he tarried—much gold he carried;

He spied a damsel beautiful and fair,

The maid he fancied, her name was Nancy,

A weaver's daughter that lived there.

He fix'd his ogling eyes upon her,

With every motion for to enjoy;

He often crav'd her of her honour,

But modest Nancy was something coy.

He often courted, and likewise sported,

And in his arms did her enfold;

He said, my dear Nancy, if you please my fancy,

I will give you a chain of gold.

I would not blemish your reputation

For all the favours you could bestow,

I mean to live in an honest station,

No man alive shall serve me so.

Keep your laces—your kind embraces,

Such silly trifles won't my fancy move;

Till death I'll tarry—unless I marry,

No man alive shall my ruin prove.