Page:Tempest.pdf/8



H! woes me, poor Willy cry'd,

ſee how I'm waſted to a ſpan!

My heart I loſt, when firſt I ſpy'd

the charming lovely milk-maid Nan.

l'm grown ſo weak, a gentle breeze

of the duſky winnowing fan,

Would blow me o'er yon beechy trees,

and all for thee, my ſmirky Nan.

The ale-wife miſſes me of late,

I us'd to take a hearty cann!

But now I neither drink nor eat,

unleſs 'tis brew'd and bak'd by Nan.

The baker bakes the best of bread,

the flour he takes, and leaves the bran;

The bran is every other maid,

compar'd with thee, my ſmirky Nan.

But Dick o' the Green, that naſty lown,

laſt Sunday to my miſtreſs ran,

He ſnatch'd a kiſs, I knock'd him down,

which hugely pleas'd any ſmirky Nan.

But hark! the roaring ſoger comes,

and rattles tantara tarran,

She leaves her cows for noiſy drums,

woes me l've loſt my ſmirky Nan!