An ANSWER to the Bonny SCOT; Or, The Sorrowfull Complaint of the Yielding LASS.
In Care, and Grief, without Relief,
this yielding Lass was left;
in this Distress, and Heaviness
she was of Hopes bereft.
To the Tune of The Spinning-Wheel
Licensed according to Order.
Behold, I pray, what's come to pass,
when twenty W [...]ks was [...] and gone,
This bonny youthful yielding Lass,
did sigh, and bitterly t [...]ke on,
Saying My Grief I may reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
With honey words, both soft and sweet,
alas he has d [...]luded me.
My Heart within my Breast does beat
to see my woful Destiny▪
My Virgin Treasure he did steal,
Too [...] my Spinning-wheel.
Each Complement I did [...]ieve,
so Serpent-like he did betray,
That had there been a second Eve,
she har [...]ly could ha [...]e said him nay:
The sad Effects of this I feel,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
He utter'd not one word of Truth,
but with Delu [...]ns led me on,
And cropt the Rose-bud of thy Youth,
so that my splendid Glory's gone:
My wounded Heart no one can heal
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
I Am a Damsel now defil'd,
and am expo [...]'d to open shame,
For here I find my self with Child,
and have no Father for the same:
My very Tears do's Grief reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
For my young Scot sad moan I make,
whose Beauty did my favour win;
I find him like a painted Snake,
that's fair without, and false within:
His cruel Sting I yet do feel,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
He came with a most noble Grace,
so sweet, so charming, fair and trim;
That I no sooner see his Face,
but streight I did consent to him;
Such flames of Love I then did feel;
Which made me leave my Spinning-Wheel.
My Love no favour will allow,
he's gone, and yields me no relief;
For that small dram of Pleasure, now
I feel a Hundred weight of Grief:
My Sorrow I cannot reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
Some Gallants most deceitful are,
as by Experience I may say,
They'll call a Damsel charming Fair,
until their Hearts they do betray:
In grief I may this truth reveal,
Too soon I left my Spinning-wheel.
FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden-Ball in Pye-Corner.