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Then on his back the poor man did take her,
And swore before right a cripple he'd make her;
So then, gentlemen, I came laughing away,
I thought I'd seen sport enough for the whole day.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

He took her such a dig, in the kennel he threw her,
She stunk so with gin he could not sland o'er her;
There she did ly like a juniper sow,
She strove to get up, but could not tell how.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.

Text divider from 'The True Hearted Maiden', a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1802

THE FORSAKEN NYMPH,

A walking, a talking, and a walking was I,
To meet my sweet Billy, he'll come by & by,
To meet him in the meadows is all my delight,
A walking and taking from morning till night.

Meeting is a pleasure, but parting is a grief,
And an inconstant lover is worse than a thief,
A thief can but rob me and take what I have,
But an inconsistent lover sends me to my grave.

The grave it will rot me and bring me to dust,
But an inconstant lover no maiden can trust,
They'll kiss you, they'll court you, poor girls to deceive
There's not one in twenty that you can believe.

The cucko's a fine bird, she sings where she flies,
She brings us good tidings and tells us no lies,
She sucks of sweet flowers to keep her voice clear,
The more she sings cucko, the summer draws rear.

Come all ye pretty maidens wherever ye be,
Don't settle your love on a sycamore tree,
The leaf it will wither, and the root it will die,
And if I'm forsaken, I know not for why.

---

Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1802.