Page:Mary le More, a lamentable Irish song.pdf/3

 Ah! who can deſcribe, & not curſe the vile faction

That blaſted that roſe bud ſweet Mary le More

My, father! my father! ſhe cried, wildly throwing

Her arms round his neck, while his life ſtream were flowing!

She kiſs'd his pale cheeks, but poor Dermot was going;

He groan'd, and left fatherleſs Mary le More.

From her father's pale cheeks, which her lap h ſupported,

To an out hoaſe the ruffians the lovely maid bo

With her pray’rs her intreaties, her, ſorrows ſported,

{{em}And by force they deflow'red ſweet Mary de More

And now a poor maniac ſhe roams the wild coma

Gainſt the ſoldiers of England ſhe warns every woman;

And ſings of her father in ſtrains more than hun

Till tears often flow from poor Mary le More.

s I ſtray'd o'er the common on Cork's ru border,

While the dew drops of morn the pale pri array'd.

I ſaw a poor female, whoſe mental diſorder

Her quick-glancing eye and wild aſpect betray.