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126 LADY ANNE BOTHWELL's LAMENT.
I was too cred'lous at the first, so
To yield thee all a maiden durst; Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love ; But quick as thought the change is wrought. Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought. 35 Balow, my boy, fyc.
I wish I were a maid again ! From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain ; For now unto my grief I find They all are perjur'd and unkind; *>
Bewitching charms bred all my harms;— ' Witness my babe lies in my arms. Balow, my boy, fyc.
I take my fate from bad to worse,
That I must needs be now a nurse, «
And lull my young son on my lap :
From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.
Balow, my child, thy mother mild
Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd.
Balow, my boy, fyc. »
Balow, my boy, weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee ; Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart; For, too soon trusting latest finds es
With fairest tongues are falsest minds. Balow, my boy, fyc.