A New Scotch Ballad OF Jealous Nanny: Or, False-hearted WILLY turn'd True?
To the Tune of, Moggies Iealousie.
MY own dear Nanny, my fair eyne,
my pritty sweet Creature, my Love,
Why, what is the matter, my dear eyne,
That Nanny will from me remove:
And Willy I'se sure ye do gush it,
For awe ye do look so demure,
And tho' ye will never confess it,
Yet Willy's a fause eyne ise sure.
Ah! Nanny, quo he, be not cruel,
But banish that Iealousie quite,
For Nanny was always my Iewel,
my joy and my anely delight:
Na mere, quo she, prithee dear Willy,
your flattery never will Cure,
Tha' Nanny has bin but too silly,
Yet now ye're a fause eyne ise sure.
So farewell to Willy the Ranger,
For ise never trouble ye mere,
Gin Moggies unkind you may change her,
for every new face is your dear:
Ne mere shall your sighing and crying,
bring Nanny to stoop to your lure,
Nor pitty ye, tha' ye're a dying,
for Willy's a fause eyne ise sure.
AH! Nanny, pray tell the occasion,
why you will your Willy desert,
And if I can make no Evasion,
for ever for ever we'se part:
For Willy was never a Ranger,
nor nene can love Nanny mere truer,
But Gin she will part for a Stranger,
then Nanny's a fause eyne ise sure.
Nay, Willy may talk for his Pleasure,
but ise may believe what I please,
For Moggy Ise sure is his Treasure,
and Nanny his onely disease:
How oft have I heard you to praise her,
and say that there none was like to her,
And sware he was happy could please her,
nay Willy's a fause eyne ise sure.
And have I not heard you with Sawney,
discourse, embrace, and to smack,
And seen him to thrust in his Tawney
rough hand down your Lilly-white back:
Ye know that I saw this, my dear,
yet I never thought ye untruer,
This never occasion'd my fear,
for Nanny was just I was sure.
Ah! prithee dear Willy forgive me,
And ise ne'r be Iealous again,
'Twas onely my Love, you'l believe me,
and ise had the worst of the pain:
And Willy shall still be my dearest,
with Willy Ise always endure,
And Nanny shall still be his fairest,
for Willy's nay fause eyne ise sure.
But the Parson shall make us amends too
And we'l have a merry long day,
With all our Relations and Friends too,
and the Piper all Night he shall play:
And thou shalt put on thy best Ierkin,
and I will put on my best quoise,
For my Mother will Brew a whole Firkin
against that thou make me thy Wife.
FINIS.