Young squire's frolic/The forsaken nymph

THE FORSAKEN NYMPH.

A Walking, a talking, and a walking was I,
To meet my sweet Billy, he’ll come by and by,
To meet him in the meadows is all my delight,
A walking and talking is 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 inconstant 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 cuckow’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 cuckow, the summer draws near.

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