Page:Old woman clothed in Gray.pdf/7

7 My father's a hedger and ditcher

My mother does nothing but spin

And I am a pretty young girl,

But the money comes slowly in.

And it's oh dear, &c.

They says I am beauteous and fair;

They say I am scornful and bold;

Alas! I must now despair,

For oh! I am grown very old.

And it's oh dear, &c.

But now I must die an old maid,

Oh dear hew shocking the thought,

And all my beauty must fade,

For I'm sure it's no my own fault.

And it's oh dear &c.

I WOULD IF I WAS NOT SO YOUNG.

my holiday gown, and my new fashion’d hat,

last monday I went to the fair,

held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,

young Roger I guess'd would be there:

He woo’s me to marry, whenever we meet'

there's honey sure dwells on his tongue,