Tune, Ewe-bughts Marion.


WILL you leave me my blithe spanking lass,
And not of my love take share?
The country sure's more fit for thy health,
Than breathing the town's foul air.


I love thee so dearly my Marion;
From thee I've ne'er gone astray:
Can love nor persuasion you alter,
And on you prevail for to stay?


O Marion could'st thou change thy purpose,
And hear what thy shepherd will say;
He's so deep in love, nought can it remove;
He's wasted with sighs all the day!


Oh Marion! my heart is a breaking!
Thy charms they've so struck my eye;
No melody sweet my heart can e'er cheer;
My pipe and my crook are thrown by!


The birds that did sing in the bushes,
And sound their notes through the dale,
No more fill my soul with sweet raptures,
But listen to hear me bewail.


No more yon sweet brook gives me pleasure,
Whose waters us'd smoothly to flow;
I ne'er heed the gowd- spinks that chatter,
Nor beautiful daisies that grow.


Has pity left Marion's sweet bosom,
Where all the lov'd graces did play?
Am I doom'd from her sight to be banish'd,
And forc'd from my Charmer away?


Dear Marion, pray don't leave me mourning,
Forsake me not thus to despair:
Oh stay and delight me, my Marion,
And of my fond love take a share!


May the winds blow gently on Marion,
And waft her to fields clad in grass:
O ye gods! be the guides of my Marion;
For her charms I ever must praise.


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