S O N G XII.
Tune, Broom of Cowdenknows.
I.
When first I saw my pretty Maid,
My heart was deeply seiz'd;
Love's arrows firmly in me stuck,
Though wounded, yet was pleas'd.
CHORUS.
O the maid, the pretty, pretty maid,
The maid with the fine black een;
I love to meet such a maid in the dark,
And with her gang home at E'en.
II.
I have no pow'r to wish myself
Relieved of this pain;
Some torments here I do endure;
Her heart I crave in vain.
O the maid, &c.
III.
I, unreserv'd, gave all my heart;
'Tis all that love can give!
But when I ask kind love's return,
She has no heart to give.
O the maid, &c.
IV.
'Tis true, she's decent; and I must
Admire her lovely face:
There's something that I cannot name
Gives all her airs a grace.
O the maid, &c.
V.
I think she's formed man to please,
Amidst the greatest throng:
She smiles, and laughs, and sings with ease,
Contented all day long:
O the maid, &c.
VI.
But what avails her comely face,
Although it sweetly shine;
Or ev'n that something, I can't name,
Without a feeling mind?
O the maid, &c.
VII.
In vain I have her features trac'd,
Although they are serene:
May Fate protect me from the ills
That I'm deep plunged in.
O the maid, &c.
VIII.
Ye gods! lend me some loving maid,
With sympathizing heart,
Whose soul with delicacies flows,
And shares of all my smart.
O the maid, &c.
IX.
Some jealousy betrays my tongue;
I stammer when I speak:
My brain's bewilder'd in my head;
My heart is like to break!
O the maid, &c.
X.
When I see her with others dance,
I restless am and mad:
My heart within me hot does burn;
I'm jealous and dismay'd!
O the maid, &c.
XI.
She scarce will give one smile to me:
Some coxcomb hath her won:
'Tis hard to hate in midst of love,
Though I must bear the scorn!
O the maid, &c.
XII.
The gods an independent life,
To most men have deni'd;
But in full store, they've given me,
A loving, feeling mind.
O the maid, &c.
XIII.
A spirit strong I really crave,
With modest share of pride,
To spurn against all female arts,
That shift true love aside.
O the maid, &c.
XIV.
And since that I must sigh in vain,
When I am sore perplext,
I'm now resolv'd to fly thy charms,
And never more be vext.
O the maid, the pretty, pretty maid,
The maid with the fine black een;
I love to meet such a maid in the dark,
And with her gang home at E'en.