Page:Moorland Johnny.pdf/8

 Now the end of my song’s drawing near,

I'll tell yebut that’s nothing new,

Now all my ambition’s to try,

And do what I can to draw you:

In which if I do but succeed

And my efforts beguile you of pain,

I entreat you’ll not wait to be ask'd,

To come often and see me again

Fal de ral, &c.

When William at eve meets me down at the stile

How sweet is the Nightingale’s song

Of the days I forgot all my labour and toil

Whilst the moon plays yon branches among

By her beams without I hear him complain

And beleive every word of his song

You know not how sweet ’tis to love the dear swain

Whilst the Moon plays yon branches among