Of noble Race was @3Shinking@1, The Line of @3Owen Tudor, Thum, thum, thum, thum@1, But her Renown is fled and gone, Since cruel Love pursu'd her. Fair @3Winnies@1 Eyes bright shining, And Lilly Breasts alluring; Poor @3Jenkins@1 Heart with fatal Dart, Have wounded past all curing. Her was the prettiest fellow, At Foot-ball or at Cricket; At Hunting Chace, or nimble Race, Cots-plut how her cou'd prick it. But now all Joys are flying, All Pale and wan her Cheeks too, Her Heart so akes, her quite forsakes, Her Herrings and her Leeks too. No more must dear Metheglin, Be top'd at good @3Montgomery;@1 And if Love sore, smart one week more, Adieu Creem-Cheese and Flomery. |