THE LOSS OF HIS DEAR
As I walked out one evening I chanced to hear
A young man lamenting the loss of his dear;
A young man lamenting, and this was his cry
I am sorely tormented, for love I shall die.
My love she doth slight me because I am poor,
I'll work to maintain her, what can I do more?
The king could but love her, and I'll do the same,
I'll own her my mistress, my own darling flame.
When I sit beside her she is angry with me,
And when I talk to her she says I'm too free,
When I say nothing she rakes me again,
And surely says to me, go back as you came.
I'll wind up my ditty, I'll finish my song,
Here's a health to those proud girls to whom wealth belong;
I'll hug them and kiss them be they ever so mean,
'Tis an old saying and a true one, a new broom sweeps clean.